Well before the sun appears
in the dark
in the dew
in the quiet of pre-dawn
I hear a man whistling
a happy tune
as it echoes off the ancient walls.
Who whistles,
I think as I lay in bed,
at such a time of day?
But the happy song
he whistles that morn
blows my question away.
I smile and listen as he makes his way
from bin to bin to bin,
marvelling at his utter joy
for the simple job he’s in.
If only all of us could feel
the happy this fellow seems
each morning that he puckers his lips
and starts his day with a tune.
Dog-eared Stories 