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Early New England mornings

Sunrise cups of tea

Pre-dawn light adorning

Waking up to be

I wait to be productive

For now, not on the mind

Silence can be instructive

If you only take some time.

Then I start my writing

By now I’m comfortable

My mind’s no longer fighting

In fact, it’s affable

I listen to the plants

As I struggle with the prose

I don’t listen to the “can’t”s

Trees carry no such woes.

In Spring it’s budding flowers

The anticipation of the rain

In summer it’s sunlit hours

Hoping they’ll never wain

Then it’s fall, my favorite

I always feel the call

In Winter snow, I savor it

How I love an icy squall.

Perhaps it’s the four seasons

New England’s never stops

I try to think of more reasons

In comparison, they’re flops

It’s a loved one, yes

A happy dog, or two

And I guess, I must confess,

What’s a home without you?

Home is my scribbled notebook

It’s a thought to do this or that

Home is a jaunt by the brooke

The occasional buzzing gnat

Home is a cup of tea,

In morning and at night

Home is in bed, you see

Beside you, you in my sight