Waking up and pushing aside the mist
In my eyes.
Throwing and smacking frosty water
Into my face.
Covering my flesh from the morning chill,
Placing the glasses over my eyes so I can see.

Kettle boiling, warm mist is rising
From the landscape and my mug rim.
Sipping a brown sugar liquid while
Watching the field:
The sheep moving and mowing the lawn
While my red fingers place out tools.

A warm buttered plate, bread, meat,
Egg and a full belly on its way.
As the night leaves my black vigil ends
With the breaking of my sleeping fast.

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