Dawn

She greeted the dawn
with a stretch towards
the makings of sunlight
dancing between trees
with the wind.
Tea rose her from bed,
unfurled the pleasures of sleep
on tip-toe
like a cat
across the cool floor.
Steam from the kettle
misted the morning glory
through the window pane,
the smell of morning
at her lips.
But why get up?
Such a morning is best dragged
out
on these white sheets,
curled in a patch of sunlight;
the morning can wait
all day.