Sunday morning, she's still asleep and breathing softnAwoken by the kettle whistlenSend from the distant moss-hung keep to the drowsy croft nA prayer my flower won't become her thistlennAs I train my fingers to the steel to bring us luck nAnd now she's found my weaknessnShe's in my heart and in my dreams and in my waking upnShe's in the clay and the landscape drawing on my coffee cupnnBleary-eyed, the dawn birds sing their songs of love nLooking for someone to hold themnFree from all our aimless thoughts they fly abovenLike us just doing as Mother told themnnIn leaving footprints in the lawn when the dew drops freeze nWhile the world keeps spinningnShe's in the keen touch of the frost and the wind that moves the treesnShe's in the smoke from the bonfire burning up the autumn leavesnnI numb my fingers in the steam, watch the dog run awaynFrom safe behind my windownI think up rhyme to keep us calm and fill the daynNow she's in each vowel and consonant of every word I say