Hot chamomile tea, sipped from rose colored porcelain cup
Quiets my nerves, ensuring a deep sleep.
Rain drops beat the windowpane like a steel drum.
Lighting cracks, slicing open my unconscious.
Departed souls influence without words,
Their presence feels like Florida air in August sun.
My Egyptian cotton sheets scented with Channel No. 5
Holds a treasure trove of dreams.
Woke up and found a poem on my pillow,
The color of lake mist rising.
Wrapped the poem around me like a thick down comforter,
Strengthening me for the daily race…
-
Author:
Joan Reese (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 22nd, 2025 19:53
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 14
Offline)
Comments1
Scents and air I am familiar with all make this poem so well known. Nicely done
Thank you ,much!
You are most welcome
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.