Misty Morn, Not Forlorn

Awoke by a dream where..

Dad and I were playing,

Have started moving the pieces,

His, white, mine, black,

Didn’t finish as my eyes widely opened.

Quite dark room, with an aunt beside,

Sleeping so sweetly, all calm,

Got up and greeted uncle, ‘Good morning,’

As he made a cup of coffee,

some cream and sugar.

Little chit chat, sales and all,

I left soon as I’d washed the cups.

Damp roads, misty wind blowing,

As I came by walking, skidding,

Black top, orange pants, socks and slippers,

Trampling dirt along the way.

Lately, its’ been raining,

but this morning’s mist didn’t bring any sadness,

neither did it cause madness,

it simply meant drops of water,

kissing my skin,

moistening my hair,

nothing but drops of water,

forming clay out of sand,

flooding some fine dust.


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