I left my coat on the kitchen chair
And took the lane past the garden wall
The baker’s window was dark and bare
A blackbird stirred where the hedges fall
I watched the morning find the hill
One pale gold edge, then the whole field
No hand to hold, no word to say
Just me, and the day making its way
The grass was cold along my shoes
A gate clicked shut behind the farm
A thin blue cup of sky came through
And warmed the stones beneath my palm
I watched the morning find the hill
One pale gold edge, then the whole field
No hand to hold, no word to say
Just me, and the day making its way
I thought of all the things I’d keep
If I could choose what stayed with me
The hush before the sparrows wake
The first light resting on the lake
The road turned bright; I turned for home
The house was still, but not the same
