Outside, civil servants earn their keep keeping America beautiful
and reminding me of matters left undone
The rain softly applauds the accomplishment of my waking
and is largely to blame for it
Coffee’s call drifts in like fog, wrestling
with the sheets for my attention
The baby stirs, immediately
winning out over both
It is not yet seven thirty
and already the day looks promising
Lori Boulard
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/impressions-of-morning/
