swirling

 

 

I opened a book

of beautiful poems
 to read

 

the morning was crisp but warm

the patio alive
with humming birds

flitting here and there

 

a Bewick Wren sang a duet

with a trickling stream

they filled
the sky blue air

with their morning serenade

 

swirls of cream

spun like an eddy

and painted my coffee

with ripples of sand

that led to
 an ocean of life

 

a sharp tangy aroma

from the depth of the cup

aroused the senses of my being
as I swirled my nectar
and watched it spin

the warmth of its life

caressed the souls of my fingers

 

I tried to read my life

and where it began

and where it was going

and where it would end

I heard the chirping of the wrens

the trickling of the stream

but any news from the nectar
was only to be a dream

 



gs batty/march 2013