The tree in front of our little balcony, I have named the Morning Song Tree. I sit there in the pre-dawn light, Listening to what sounds like a million little birds, Each burstin' with pride, Showcasing why they be chosen for the choir. It is the first time in a long time I haven't turned on a morning radio. Moggy sees things differently. He sits by me in his own little word of thought. He look like a hungry blind man Being read to from one of Mary Berry's cake books. Although we exist in different galaxies at that precise moment, We both smile. We look at each other grinning, thinking, "I like how we start the day now. This is nice."