Mississippi Mornings
I wake at 'round 6 in the mornings,
Set up the coffee, an essential,
And walk outside.
Today is the first of Autumn,
I can tell this morning,
I walk out and the patio is like ice.
My feet are covered by the slippers,
But the chilling impact has no difference,
A gust of wind is like a slap to my face.
I kick off the worn slippers,
Feet bare, I walk accross the dew-covered grass,
I usually swing, listening to the mindless radio chat.
Same as yesterday,I swing, and watch the sun rising,
Like a graceful sheet of silken fabrics,
It slowly rises as the swing quietly squeaks, same as yesterday.
My usually pink cheeks are wind-stained,
It has a unorthodox feeling that I don't mind,
In some ways it's actually refreshing.
As the sun completely rises,
The heat radiates against my face,
It's a feeling like no other.
I'm lucky and I know it,
City people don't get this feeling every morning,
I know for sure that I'm a valid Mississippian,
with my Mississippi mornings.
Set up the coffee, an essential,
And walk outside.
Today is the first of Autumn,
I can tell this morning,
I walk out and the patio is like ice.
My feet are covered by the slippers,
But the chilling impact has no difference,
A gust of wind is like a slap to my face.
I kick off the worn slippers,
Feet bare, I walk accross the dew-covered grass,
I usually swing, listening to the mindless radio chat.
Same as yesterday,I swing, and watch the sun rising,
Like a graceful sheet of silken fabrics,
It slowly rises as the swing quietly squeaks, same as yesterday.
My usually pink cheeks are wind-stained,
It has a unorthodox feeling that I don't mind,
In some ways it's actually refreshing.
As the sun completely rises,
The heat radiates against my face,
It's a feeling like no other.
I'm lucky and I know it,
City people don't get this feeling every morning,
I know for sure that I'm a valid Mississippian,
with my Mississippi mornings.
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