She wanders round the light of morning
like a cat contented at the hearth of mother nature's girth.
The coffee is on, the poem is just about finished.
The porch light is on
and the siren calls of the first bird
has not yet been chirped...
Her mind is like a fleck of light full of great ideas,
laying unbroken and unchained, by a dapple of light.
May 9
May 9, 2026 at 11:17 AM UTC
She wanders round the light of morning
like a cat contented at the hearth of mother nature's girth.
The coffee is on, the poem is just about finished.
The porch light is on
and the siren calls of the first bird
has not yet been chirped...
Her mind is like a fleck of light full of great ideas,
laying unbroken and unchained, by a dapple of light.
