|
| |
The Write
The Write
I yawn and stretch.
I dare to pray... realizing
it would always be
the best course.
The smell of coffee
is pungent on the air.
My husband has made heaven
come to earth for me.
He is so sweet,
and I am blessed.
I find my way toward the day,
one step forward at a time.
I want to make the world, rhyme.
But it is hard,
to grab words from thin air,
or scare them out of the corners
of the darkness,
left from the night.
The window is full of sunshine,
coming in from the outside.
Its bright glow,
a gift...
more than I, or you...
can know.
My cup is full.
I am no fool, I will keep it that way,
until the pot runs empty.
My hair is less crazy now,
and nearly appears brushed to some.
While others know better,
and say nothing to me.
They see that I
have not yet fully woken,
and my mind is still broken...
from dreams half lived,
and taken away
too early to write down,
this day.
Copyright ©
Ann Foster
|
|