Morning Light

Light spills in, like molasses flowing through the cracks in tile.

It’s warm, like pancakes fresh made that heat your stomach.

Its march is whole but erratic, no ray greets in single file.

Jarring, at first, unexpected though repeated, a lake

Of light that splashes you awake. Greet it with a smile

Or with a curse, either way, it will always meet you in a while.

 

The End

0 comments about this poem Feed