Ha, all the little details my daddy worried over me about is it?
O how the dove coos softly in dawn's pale Eye! Warmth a light caress as songs trill thence Through Sunday's hallowed peace, a ghostly sense Of silence hovers as none else t'avail Breathe here except the wind whose cool exhale 'Non whispers through tall grass and leaves fr'intents, Morn's golden shafts upon the mowed lawn hence Like fragile notes playing hide-n-seek, to fail. Showrd, dressed, start that machine for coffee, poor As using canned joe after I've penned through The years so many lines on beans as twere FRESH-ground; boil water for my porridge too-- That "instant" stuff I oft deplored--and fer Aught see how last night's rain winks as the dew.
NOTE: That closing note is the answer I failed to acknowledge, else I never should have written this naughty complaint.