Saturday Morning

Yellow bananas, sugar dark brown
The cinnamon freckles I spill
Oats from the farmer, the train into town
The grinding of grain at the mill
Thank you for putting the food on my table
Thank you for seeing it through
Labourers ready and willing and able
Who don't say as much as they do...

Breakfast time, Saturday morning

The mist that clings to the field like a blanket
Is lifting off now with the sun
I'm lost in Caruso, the scratches, the accent
From back when recording began
Choirs of snow geese off in the distance
Singing their migration tune
You never wear perfume, trusting the essence
I hope you come visit me soon...

Breakfast time, Saturday morning

I want you to be here
The coffee is ready
I'm here with my feelings
I'm feeling unsteady
I want to touch you
My hands, they remember
The curve of your body
The touches so tender

Filling the birdbath full of fresh water
The little ones still come around
Food is so scarce in the north in the winter
I sprinkle these seeds on the ground
Tell me, is your suntan gone
Has the blue of your eyes turned to grey
Is there any joy in old 101
And what are you doing today...

Breakfast time, Saturday morning

DL