Symphony No. 1 in C major
The simple task is waking from bed.
I grab my shoes and morning cap.
Smoke my pipe,
And walk my daily lap.
To stroll through my garden this summer,
Is my current quest.
I sit upon a stump for the briefest moment this spring,
And picture the flowers and fruits they shall bring.
I hear the kitchen stirring.
The house is awakening,
With the warm smell of coffee brewing.
The biscuits in the oven steaming.
Today’s chore is nothing you would call commanding.
Merely matters of mice and men,
And the poor sap wearing my shirt and shoes.
The day has its tasks and they are here, gone, and none so grasping.
Nothing to haunt and chase me at home,
while gardening my poetic path.
The house swells in that morning hour,
And rests the day away,
Staring at my garden I suppose,
Laughing at me in Poetic prose.