Early

Early

In the hush before the city stirs,
a pale light tiptoes over rooftops,
soft as a whisper of tea steam
curling from a chipped mug on the sill.

The world holds its breath,
birds sketch hesitant notes
against a sky still wearing night’s coat,
while dew clings to grass like tiny sequins.

Shop shutters rise with a creak,
the first lorry rumbles down the lane,
and the scent of fresh‑baked scones
drifts from the bakery’s open door.

Early is a quiet promise,
a tender edge between dream and day,
where possibilities sit folded
in the cool, unhurried moment
before the rush begins.