Under Grumpa's Hat

The world’s still dark, the stars half gone,
I stretch and smile, my mind at ease,
no cars, no chatter, just whispering trees,
and I thank the night for moving on.

I pour my coffee, rich and bold,
black as truth, no sugar disguise,
steam curling up like a prayer to the skies,
a Costa Rican comfort worth more than gold.

The air feels fresh, the calm runs deep,
a rooster shouts, thinking he’s the boss,
the neighbour’s dog joins in for the loss,
and I sip again, too happy to sleep.

The sky starts glowing, soft and slow,
the birds show up for their daily debate,
arguing songs before finding a mate,
and I watch the show with a morning glow.

Here in Costa Rica, they call it “Pura Vida,”
no rush, no drama, no need to fake,
just peace, a smile, and a heart that’s awake,
like sunshine poured from a ripe banana.

The world soon stirs, the spell wears thin,
the noise creeps back, the screens come on,
the trolls and critics start their con,
and I know that morning’s peace won’t win.

So I lift my cup to the early light,
grateful to God for one more day,
to live, to love, to walk His way,
and make the most before the world takes flight… or is it fight?

Moral
Those who rise before the world begins,
find peace that hides from noisy men.
For the quiet hours are God’s own lens,
through which the soul finds calm again.