An Inch Over Dawn

Morning eats its namely dew
socks absorb, regret, renew

My feet gather like the dust
broken, drying, thinner crust

Folding up the tasks that start
gerunds rounder than a tart

Raspberries circle the swirl
crispy thatching custom world

Eager eyes will never arm
fingers that might come to harm

Counted beats must fail to break
fast that earned its nightly take