She smelled of vanilla coffee,
The scent all through the house.
Her green eyes light and shiny,
Her hair still nested by a mouse.
She is perfection in the morning.
A Blend of tartness and sweet.
Smiles are rare, but often looked for.
Don't speak till she's had a drink.
She doesn't think she is beautiful.
Morning has never been her thing
Wrapped in her soft cotton robe
Sits on the stairwell, still dreams.
She's off to start her brand new day
Hair's brushed out, Coffee in hand
She walks out the door, not smiling.
Knowing her day never goes on as planned.
Then finally the day has ended.
She walks through the door, "Hello".
Her tea glass in hand as if by magic.
She's happy She's finally Home.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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I relate to this poem very well. I am also not a morning person and feel the same way sometimes about the day ahead...it's a cute poem. i like it
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hehe, I know a few people this fits. I think people are most beautiful when they are unguarded and vulnerable. It seems she knows the world too well to trust it, the light in her is dimmed down and hidden behind tinted glass.
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