Morning Hours

As the autumn sun is rising,

often crimson or golden,

I'm in my writing chair

in our cozy library,

looking out the window

for new ideas, for a few

words to come together.

These few, precious hours

allow me to observe the way

the American Beech leaves

first begin to shuffle,

or the way the ambitious wind

tears the remaining  leaves

from these broad White Oaks.

Most days, these morning hours

are fruitful and fulfilling,

and I am grateful

for the enrichment

as I press pen to page,

collecting fragments;

finding my poetry.

© 2024 Richaard Havenga