"I sit at the kitchen table,
mulling over my dreams and fables,
softly holding a cup of peppermint tea,
watching the scarlet skies meet the mountains of green,
I wondered if today's sufferings,
would come back in the morning,
or if they would go down with the setting sun,
never to return, like a hit-and-run,
the wind meanders through the trees,
I glance down at my weathered knees,
they had succumbed to a dull ache,
hungry for the evening break,
but I needed to pay my dues,
for that I suffered a bruise or two,
as long as I could lift my head,
I would always have bread,
my little ones would be fed,
tucked away in their warm beds."