My feet tingle as I wake, breakfast awaits
the golden sun like succulent bait
causes my heart, alive, to salivate.
The grass is greener now,
Winter’s slow howl makes
for the weekend a softened brow.
The slow ticking clock – a tease –
as I set my sights on my pilgrimage,
with thoughts on the soft breeze.
I know as in the forgotten night’s dream
reamed into morning, the greens
will welcome me again.
© Denis Adide 2010
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