The summer morning, <br />it rises to the sound <br />of dogs greeting day, in garden near, <br />and Fuschia, waking in the morn <br />as Echium, leaning high to wall, <br />beneath, the flushed red rose. <br />The quiet Monday street <br />as school now rests its <br />satchel, and calmer road, <br />allows the slow worker towards <br />the stock exchange hope, <br />her act of faith. <br />The chapel bell rings out <br />again, its centenary sound. <br />The garden, cut grass <br />and tidied lawn, <br />with poppies peeping out from <br />underneath laburnums yellowed fingers. <br />And summer, waiting long, <br />its entrance to the stage, <br />to standing, tempered, <br />patient adoration. <br />mindfullness brings alive <br />and obvious makes thisness.<br /><br />Bernard Kennedy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/july-morning-mindfullness/
