Morning
The seat of life remembers it's first home,
that place of the heart
where authentic breakfast fare
appeared like magic
in the morning light,
the aromatic smells
gliding like a magic carpet made of the finest silk
up the wooden staircase and round,
round that old familiar corner
to the room of long ago,
where outside the bright pink rhododendron
burst forth it's flashy blooming self, while robins commenced their spring symphony
and I,
a worshiper of all things living,
was held tight in a ten year old body
that trusted all life in the vision of springtime out that curtained window.
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