Crisp, warm fingers of light gently crack open my weary eyes
Distantly aware of the crashing salty waves against soft sands
The tender salt air brushing my tousled hair across my face
Stretching out across downy pillows, in wholesome white lace
A lazy foot rubbing, unaware, against harsh wooden floors
Tripping slowly forward to the curtains flowing in the breeze
Emphasising need for rest, pink lips broaden with a yawn
Seeing out down to the dew atop the recently mowed lawn
Healing smells drift up leisurely from the tiny herb garden
It starts again with the sweet kiss of sea salt and mellow sun
Awakened now are the senses as I lean from under this awning
Smelling rich aromas of herbs and coffee,
I know that it is morning.