The rain pours down and
drums on the roof
drums on my heart
with a steady beat
a not-quite-ready beat
but not a heavy beat
a light drumming
the kind that sounds like
a child's footsteps
pattering down the hall
before the dawn
their whisper coming from the dark
"Can we get up yet?"
and you stifle a groan because
how can you ruin that
early-morning exuberance
with which they greet each day?
Maybe you can re-learn
that sunrise wonder
from the sparkling blue eyes
peering at you from the edge
of the bed
because you lost it
somewhere along the way
sometime through the
long, hard days
you lost the brightness
but a child's excitement
is infectious
and you can't help but smile
and say
"Yes, baby."
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