The morning comes with soft grey fingers touching
the room
Ghostly slides around the walls
Brushing the face on the pillow
Lighty touching her shawl.
At six o'clock the bell is screaming splinters the air,
Pressing through into her sleep
Making her think of the morning
And the dream she can't keep.
Slides out of bed, feels her heart and slips on her
slippers
Ruffles her hair, nobody there.
The window blinks and looks at morning.
For one to share.
The kettle sings its song of sorrow, coould have been joy
didn't have a chance to care
For he had gone before morning,
Had no longing to share.
She'd cleaned the room and kisses the flowers, labour of
love
Didn't even say goodbye
Taken his hat from the hallway
Leaving her there to cry.
No getting away she had to go to the office
So powder your nose
Nobody knows
The doorway grins and lets in the morning
For one to share.
She walks the street with tiny footsteps, people go by
Doesn't ever see the sky
Clutches her coat tight around her
Trying hard not to cry.
The station yawns as people hurry, press past the doors
Crowding tight onto the stairs
Suddenly he's there beside her
Can't he feel how she cares.
He's turned must have seen her pushing past
them to reach them
He hurries away. What can he say
She stands alone all wrapped in morning
For one to share.
