A distant night bird mocks the sun,
I wake as I have always done,
To freshly scented sycamore,
And cold bare feet on hardwood floor.

My steaming coffee warms my face,
I´m disappointed in the taste,
But there´s a peace the early brings,
The morning world of growing things.

I feel the moment hurry on,
It was today, it´s died away,
And now it is forever gone.

And I will drink my coffee slow,
And I will watch my shadow grow,
And disappear in firelight,
And sleep alone again tonight.