Morning

Morning

Morning,
morning in the light,
newspaper and coffee upon the table,
sun shining bright,
sugar in a bowl,
sweet,
as amongst the flowers there are honeybees in flight.
Morning,
morning in the light,
in the garden of delights,
sat on the patio amidst the glorious flowers,
sat in wonder looking at the beauty of the peony,
the hollyhocks,
the lavender and the hydrangea,
oh, what spectacular effervescence and colour and brightness there is that astounds the eyes,
and what majesty in this peaceful man-made fantasy world there is,
in this garden where the wonders of it never fail to delight.
Morning,
morning in the light,
newspaper and coffee upon the table,
sun shining bright,
sugar in a bowl,
sweet,
as amongst the flowers there are honeybees in flight,
and what delicate works of art are the flowers that open early in the morning light,
and how tender the fragrances that rise,
that rise into the air and that fill your nostrils with a beauty that overwhelms the senses,
and that leave you almost breathless,
and with such a smile and such happiness in the eyes,
such happiness as you sit in the garden of delights,
and what majesty there is that fills the heart and the mind,
and there is nothing that is better than to be your own God and to have the power of creation and design,
and in your own garden,
and happy,
happy in the garden of delights.

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