A distant nightbird 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. SOLO I feel the moments 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.