I feel good morning, even though it’s cold
The warmth of coffee mingles with my words
I call them “mine” and hope they don’t get old
Or fly away like silly little birds
To fly away is freedom’s final gift
To birds or even quick poetic lines
The warmth of freedom rises as I lift
My coffee mug with other prescient signs
The signs of life will change from day to day
Like seasons change their warmth throughout the year
And yet, the warmth of words will always stay
And share themselves with those who stop to hear
I feel the words “good morning” in the light
That waited for this freedom through the night.
This entry was posted on Thursday, January 6th, 2022 at 7:54 am and is filed under Sonnets. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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