In the early morning

I’ve the field to myself

and I can sing quietly

beneath my tree as I draw

-

meaning from the leaves

of others before me, but as

the Sun grows high and

the day progresses I must

become quiet as people filter in,

but still I’ve this tree as my own

-

and still I’ve a few hours to sit

and read beneath its boughs

as fallen leaves dance about me

and rest on the pages of my book.