I feel good morning, even though it’s cold The warmth of coffee mingles with my words I call them “mine” and hope they don’t get old Or fly away like silly little birds To fly away is freedom’s final gift To birds or even quick poetic lines The warmth of freedom rises as I lift My coffee mug with other prescient signs The signs of life will change from day to day Like seasons change their warmth throughout the year And yet, the warmth of words will always stay And share themselves with those who stop to hear I feel the words “good morning” in the light That waited for this freedom through the night.