The morning is full of promise

The morning is full of promise.
In the garden the various greens are trimmed by silver
And lizards crawl out of holes and stare
At the world as if it wasn’t there the night before.
In the pond the fish pout out a bubble and wait to be fed
While behind the kitchen window where I stand
The kettle steams the wall and I wait to make tea.

The morning is full of promise.
Something inside me stirs of great things to come.
By the time I saunter, carefully, cup in hand,
Out in the garden, the sun has moved further
And the moment is suddenly different, gone,
Like a fleeting face in the market crowd.