There is a Meander in My Walk

They say there is a meander in my walk,
that I am frequently behindhand now,    
but I wake on the side of early really,  
by a shade before the birds go off,    
   
I lie awake while mugs wait to be made,    
even when the day tut-tuts, throws    
a beam at my face through louvres,  
I creak only to bright and ready.  
   
I could never dog-ear a page    
to mark where I had to stop reading,  
for when I was thin and needful,  
money would balk going to books.  
   
but now I do, as in a slow dinner,    
fingers relishing making the fold,    
I dog-ear anything and time itself,    
Reckless, I pause the ruckus of the world.