Saturday

At summers end,
at early dawn,
a lifting mist,
a stifled yawn.
I wake anew
to regard the day,
as golden shafts
of light do play;
a pattern
on my bedroom wall,
and across the ceiling
they do crawl.
I throw the covers
and regain my feet,
the shower makes my wake
complete.
It's time to eat
for now today,
it's sport,
it's time,
it's Saturday.