The Start of the Day

Soft summer rain is

A hypnotist:

I am getting sleepy, sleepy

I hear nothing but the rain

And I am sleepy at six a.m.

And at the chirp of the next bird

I will arise and go now

Into the soft morning

To the lake isle of Innisfree

And I will live alone there

In a clay hut

Without electric light

And from the doorway I will sit

In a wooden kitchen chair

That is neither soft nor comfortable

But is the only chair

At a table for one

And I will watch the soft rain

And smell the damp earth

And I will hold the gaze of a peering deer

Also waiting it out

Though neither of us minds the wet

And I will stay there

Until the last bird sings,

When I will wake up 

And return to this bed,

Soft and warm and not unfriendly to dreams.