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True Poem
I look out my dining room sliding door as I eat my breakfast,
Seeing the mist rising off the dying AET factory down below the ridge.
I see the squirrels jumping from tree to tree in the crisp morning air,
The stray orange cat that we have been feeding relaxing on the deck.
Winter's birds are in the yard chirping their song of morning's praise,
As the sun cuts through the light fog the colors of winter paint their picture.
Morning is a time of unique beauty and hope as this is a renewed day;
I smile, with the spoon in my hand, looking out into this new day's offering.
I have been writing for a month now the poems that lay on my heart;
Expressing my emotions and looking into the rhymes and reasons of my life.
I just look out into the brightness of this new day full of hope, full of choices;
I am watching the glory of life unfold, and realize that this is the true poem.
12Jan08
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