Within my home that is not my home,
the birds come to flitter and play and
be on the ground, and in the trees,
and flutter on the reckless breeze that
greets the misty fragile morning sun
that has ever and always opened
out on this great Garden of life itself.

And here, as coffee passes my lips,
I see the flowered presence of Spring,
casting its grandeur on my eyes and nose
and filling me with gratitude that with
the dark bitterness of coffee there is the
sweetness of this morning with the playing
birds and the swirling winds and the many-hued
flowers still unfolding as the day begins.

 

21/9/2024