Awake before the spikes of the sun
Bristle in the trees, i am blinded by morning.
At the kitchen sink with water boiling
I hear the tremolo of doves through glass,
And i am filled with the enthusiasms
Of a man determined to live simply.
Outside, the cloud-slung twittery
Shakes loose the snow from branches,
I should ask What are the chances?
See the glitter over the stable as it falls,
And now the sun's above the empty stalls,
And now I should not drive to town.
