Morning Sun.

hopper.morning-sun

As the pink girl sits basking in the pale light of dawn,

Hear the the man selling news in the street from his stall,

Feel the warm wind waft in.

She is perched like a wren singing her dawn chorus.

A scent of coffee on the breeze locks her memory,

pea green walls, Egyptian sheets.

Doors open and the city groans,

A rush of songbirds explodes.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s