Gorgeous morning colours sliding in through that glass in the door... Steeped in sleep sounds mesmerisingly alluring...
I always thought the trumpet was the instrument for doing an aubade. So far I haven't found anyone who agrees.
A piano for this poem, with notes dropped one by one.
As someone who always wakes with great difficulty, whether sleep-deprived or not, I got a personal sort of pleasure from this apt poem. I like the double meaning possible in "well-tempered."
Thanks all. In fact, as I'm fond of bragging here, I'm not too bad in the mornings, and wasn't really grumpy. However, this time of the year I find hardest to wake, and had some unhappy things in my head from reading the night before, so really felt rather raw and fragile. Writing it helped.Fortunately no one tried to play the trumpet to me...
Interesting, lovely photo, thoughtful poem as an ode to morning. Really suited my mood this morning after a rough night. Glad you are OK.
In my sleep I'm always waiting for that morning ray of light to chip in..I love mornings than night!
Well tempered, indeed!
A fine poem. Well-temmpered, I would say. Short, taut, compressed and says all it needs to say. It gets my vote.
Ah, you are a tea bag! Steeping away... I like this with the marvelous colors of the window.Next time you stop by, take a look at the Mesler poems--I think you might like him, and he often works on a similar scale, compressing into a small space.
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