Softly

Softly I awaken to

the tinkling nocturnes of Chopin.

Softly I am licked and nuzzled

by my lovely kittycat.

Gentle and warm is the water

on my back and in my face.

So, too, is the cotton

of my clothes.

Soft is the kind of

music I listen to,

and the voices I want

to hear.

First thing in the morning,

everything is soft,

until I join the rest

of this hard world.