Mid-June
Fifteen Minutes since the sun had risen
The sounds of birds
The screen door sliding open, then shut
The sounds of the morning Joe
That first sip
He stalks through the high grass and low brush,
King of his personal jungle
King of his personal jungle
I await his return with a much easier meal to catch
All the others are asleep
The sun blocked by the house I'll be gone from soon
These moments; this deck.
The quiet
The solitude
I'll miss this.
Only this.
I'll miss this.
Only this.
That one time of day where there is hope
That today will be better than yesterday
Then the world wakes
Tomorrow I'll hope for the same
Still waiting.
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