Early in February

Some mornings I wake up before I thought
I might, but after what’s sufficient sleep
to operate so consciously. I’m brought
to full attentive state, and I can’t creep
back into dreaming comfort. I’m not fraught
or even fretful, but don’t want to keep
reclining, so I rise before the sun,
to vary customary. And it’s fun.

This entry was posted in Aging, Personality, Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a comment