Sunrise creeps, indeed it does
Over peaks and snow capped tips
It says peek-a-boo this cold March day
Luring the sleepy into wake
It whispered with fog and mist
Cold and damp
Keeping us inside
There is a calm, a sense of solitude
Sunday is not about hustle
but retreat
into a book
listening only to the purr
of cat contentment
waving back at the stretching rays
of spring
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