The oaks outside my window frame

Shift gently in the breeze

Like they’re waving good morning 

To the hopeless romantic with torn jeans

The birds are chirping

I wonder what they sing

If You pause the world right now

You’d never see the end of the scene

Quiet disillusionment 

In the early hours of the morning

Slow languid movement

I can hear the sounds of yearning

In these discounted wayward dreams

Don’t pretend to know what that means

Don’t lose it

Burst at the seams