Sometimes he sits
in his big chair.
Sometimes he imagines
that he is transformed
into a church bell
that is waiting
to be rung.
And sometimes the morning sun
pushes the frost
away from the rose bushes
and mown grasses
in the time before the babies stir.
And sometime after that,
the breath-like gods of blue and white skies
turn winter into spring.
Piano notes alternate
with the chirp of birdsong.
First a note,
then a cord,
then the chirp.
And then the breath of the sleeping child.
And then a note.
And then there is a riot of chirps.
Then a melody.
Nicely done.