Counting the seconds before the rain,
morning fog has fogged my brain.
The hour early but work is waiting,
I have to go there’s no debating.
My love slumbers while I think.
Her morning poem is on the brink.
Minutes pass without a word.
But not to write would be absurd.
I see her sleeping in my mind.
A more equal love I’ll never find.
Nightly visions I wish to keep,
I dream of her when I’m asleep.
Another hour just slipped past,
she’ll soon awake so I’ll write fast.
Though nothing deep in her poem today,
fortunately words aren’t love anyway.