Daddy reads the paper just before the dawn

Pours milk on raisin bran, fighting off a yawn

The ebon tide of night is very nearly gone

Black-rimmed bifocals below the bridge of his nose

Looking down upon the printed page

Before he makes his daily wage

A kind of flimsy newsprint sage

To soothe all fortunes and the woes

A barefoot girl walks in the kitchen

Scratching her scalp because it's itchin'

The sunshine keeps her eyes a-twitchin'

Till they get used to morning's amber glows

Daddy's nowhere to be seen or found

Seems he left the paper lying around

a few coffee drips and stains abound

Right next to where his elbow usually goes

The little girl wipes the table clean

There's nothing more she can glean

Deciphering what the spills and dribbles mean

And how they fit with what she knows

Though Daddy'll be in the barn all day

He's still at the table in some way

Sitting like a mountainside at play

Before the day cakes upon his clothes