So early in the morning
you give me tea in a mug,
green tea in a brown mug, healthy you say
and out you go walking your dog
before you will drive me to the train;
this happens before six o’clock
but the day is already
mentioning its name in papers.
Paper boys on iron bikes
dreaming they ride from here to China.
It would take them years and years,
a never-ending paper round.
Flowers are almost open.
In this unknown village where I slept
so much is a promise
that the day won’t keep.