Dawn is over, daylight coming. 
House is quiet; hills hum-humming. 
Out there, trucks and cars start coughing. 
Who's to say what's in the offing. 

                                         Night-fiends melt away from borders;
                                         set your morning house in order.  
                                         Through faint light, a few stars falling.  
                                         From the garden, hope is calling. 

Change the sheets. Do the dishes. 
Bake some cookies. Wish your wishes. 
Check the mirror. Shake your head
(small wry grin). Make your bed. 

                                          Don't lie in it; too much lying. 
                                          Wipe the skillet clean for frying.  
                                          Grimace, chuckle. Deep-breathe; shake 'em. 
                                          Knead the dough, roll out and bake 'em. 

Read the news, rise up and rattle; 
never mind the morning tattle. 
Stretch your bones; coil and glide. 
More than bacon's to be fried. 

                                          Pet the dog, feed her breakfast; 
                                          fill her bowl and gap the nexus. 
                                          Let your oldest, fond hopes ripen; 
                                          worry's far too strict a warden. 

Heed the music from the garden!