Daytime

The morning is a time I don't respect.
That doesn't mean I will not live therein,
But rather that I rarely will elect
To let my precious waking day begin
Before the blessed noontime hour comes.
Who wants to see the sun slink up the sky,
Hear how the universe awaking hums,
And bid the moon a fond, but firm, goodbye?
I'd rather wake during the heat of day
And wander out after the warmth has passed;
Letting the sunny hours pass away
To watch the red sun sink downward at last.
So let the afternoon be everything
I only want the nightingale to sing.