In the morning,
The smell of damp earth and traffic,
Overwhelms the senses,
Of a sub-urban girl.

The monotone beating,
Of rain invades the rhythm of my heart,
And reveals pulses not,
Constant noise.

With each pace,
Or stride she closes on her home,
Not her house but,
The abode of her smile.

Then constructed deadlines,
And the shrill alarms of modern time,
Drive her away and disconnect,
The joy.

But she takes a little more,
Happiness with her,
Each time she allows herself,
To be awake.

Awake,
Not in semi-slumber,
But eyes fully open to the beauty of the world.