Morning has broken
by Samuel Tongue
Unsleeping, I hear the morning chorus start
with what could be sparrow or chaffinch
cleaning the bedroom window with a squeegee,
squealing through last night’s rain streaks, shining
it off with its beak. You, my snoring beauty,
sleep on, regular as an idling tractor.
Morning has broken, but you’ll help haul it
out of its muddy ditch and set it right. Together,
we’ll give it a push, get it going, sputtering
like a kettle, then watch it warm into a buttery day.