sunday morning she s still asleep and breathing soft awoken by the kettle whistle send from the distant moss hung keep to the drowsy croft a prayer my flower won t become her thistle as i train my fingers to the steel to bring us luck and now she s found my weakness she s in my heart and in my dreams and in my waking up she s in the clay and the landscape drawing on my coffee cup bleary eyed the dawn birds sing their songs of love looking for someone to hold them free from all our aimless thoughts they fly above like us just doing as mother told them in leaving footprints in the lawn when the dew drops freeze while the world keeps spinning she s in the keen touch of the frost and the wind that moves the trees she s in the smoke from the bonfire burning up the autumn leaves i numb my fingers in the steam watch the dog run away from safe behind my window i think up rhyme to keep us calm and fill the day now she s in each vowel and consonant of every word i say