Before sunrise, the sky a wash
Of indigo, the wood thrush hidden
In the brush pile by the wood shed
But singing, as he is always singing

I awake to make the coffee, mix
Honey butter for the family’s breakfast;
The griddle cakes bubble, rising slowly
As children on a Sunday morning

Here are the blessings of the day;
Beneath my window, the rustle of
A rabbit in the underbrush, and
The breeze-stirred scent of lilacs

I set out plates, butter, cream;
From upstairs, softly, the patter of feet.
Above the rooftops, a thin gold band
Of sunlight ushers in the day.