November 27: Praise

Praise to dark November sky
To morning in its infancy.
Praise to the gray overhead
And the trees, naked and shy.
Praise to silent words
Coaxed from being alone.
Praise to the rain and wind that blows,
Praise to snow and angry hail,
To the warmth of my bed and the
Luxury of late mornings.
Praise to breakfast of warmed over pie,
For leftovers the rest
Of a day that refuses to rise
And brush her teeth,
Or bother to get dressed at all.
Praise to pajamas
And to coffee and tea
Fresh brewed and steaming,
Praise for this tiny house that cradles us,
Warm and fed
On the bread of love.