*If there are words to be heard in this thumping
As the black turns to grey through the lighting,
If dew is drowned and white walls are tainted
As the oldest colours have all faded,
If the morning songs of the birds
Are only in our hearts to be heard,
Then teach, me morning the peace you bring!
If the beady eyed flow stream of pilgrims
If the slippers splinter and splash the water film
And brazen lights splatter the black recipient
With a hissing, oh so inconvenient,
If the keeper’s morning cigarette
And the perfume of the fresh baguette
Enlace as lovers within my nose.
If the bananas seem strangely lit,
Under the glow of white tungsten hilt
And the craving of a lazy sleep
Has laid the newspapers in such a heep.
And if radios blare the sad morning news
I do not look for the blessings of a muse,
I have found in my morning bread run.*