Cold,
Sitting at the table,
Drinking coffee bitters,
To warm my Soul.
Looking out the window,
Through blinds of tall pine trees,
Unable to see your wondering Soul,
Unable to see your blooming heart,
Unable to touch a dream, carried by a warm breeze Far from the East.
A flickering candle,
The scent of cherry blossoms,
Piercing the darkness,
A golden flame rises,
Golden skies,
Whites, pinks, and blues,
Floating high above the pines,
Embracing me with warmth,
Warm memories of loving you,
Painting a waking dream at sunrise,
Remembering you.
Copyright © 2016 Ronald J Chapman All Rights Reserved.
Painter of the wind- Line of sight
https://youtu.be/K98WSkl4rYc