New day by Ian Curtress

posted in: Poetry 2012 | 0

The mornings are dark this time of year 

but those friendly sounds each day I hear

kettle boiling, tea soon made

toast has popped up, where’s marmalade

Kitchen warmth around my back

now retired, no lunch to pack

a word out of fashion but which says it all 

is Nice, yes Nice, it’s ten feet tall

So once again I’ll gently yawn

and thank the Lord that I was born.

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