The Morning Mist

The sun on the dawn my eyes can see

Pulling apart the curtains are the hands of me

To let him get through the window pane

So his rays on the cold can easily ski.

 

The mist on the window would think I’m cruel

To warm him up and boil him with fuel

But all I do is opening the window

To let him drop so he recommends that I do well.

 

He tells his friends who come when I sleep

And rub off memorable dreams that I keep

By letting me draw on him with my finger

Till I hear the school bus beep.