Sunday early morning, right before the first light
I hear the living room yawning, stirring with activity
The green lamp turned on in the corner, steaming
dusty beams, the rest of the house still dark, heavy with night and dreams.
I peer around the corner, and see within the pillows
a little boy all smiles, with a gap between his teeth
He's snuggled into the couch, safe, warm, and secretly
as his eyes fill with the technicolor, pouring from the TV.
The TV playing low, though the animation still yells
and the scenes bounce around the room, between the nick-nacks, over the shelves.
Though his eyes are locked on the now, I can start to see ahead, and see that these morning finds, will soon be tucked and put to bed.
And far too soon he'll be too old, for these sunday morning cartoons
so I step back before, the lamp's dusty beams could expose me, and leave it all as it had been.