Poem Hunter
Wakey, Wakey
Herbert Nehrlich (04 October 1943 / Germany)

Wakey, Wakey

Wakey, Wakey, it is five,
covers yanked while you're not looking.
Time to stretch and feel alive,
in the oven bread is cooking.

Coffee's waiting for you, Tootsie
and a very small surprise.
As I tickle now your footsie
wanders in our own sunrise.

Now she's gone back under cover,
messy hair she needs to hide.
Friends, if you have your own lover
you'd look at mine like I - with pride.

Well, I cave in and prop her pillow,
a tray comes from the kitchen cupboard,
she sits there like a fragile willow
I rush around like Mother Hubbard.

The bread is ready, golden corn.
I picked them early while you snoozed.
The fog was rising in our morn.
I thought you'd like it, be amused.

And let me tell you how entrancing
you are, just sitting in your T-shirt
we could go -after brekkie- dancing,
could have a little bitty wee flirt?

Now the surprise, straight from the oven.
So close your eyes you lovely Honey,
your favourite! I know you'll love 'em -
they're sweet like you, my Anzac Bunny.

Their day was only just beginning.

User Rating: 2,8 / 5 ( 5 votes ) 3

Comments (3)

I used to have a very wild imagination, but not anymore. There's too many layers of reality to see the dreams...that's why there are great poems...temporary dreams.. =) Thanks for your contributions..
So do I, so do I. Do you think that a vivid imagination could sometimes turn into reality, like when you wake up in the morning and you don't yawn but your mouth is so wide open because your dream has come true? Talk about lucky - there's got to be a better word.Perhaps supercalifragilisti.....
Herbert, this is endearing. And here we get to see the playful side of the story. I hope to see more! adria