Can I waste my poor words
Any diction or jargon on you
Just about you
I do not find such a squander worth while
Perhaps a funny strange form of survival
That when a heart and mind are swirling
The same cycles in tandem and apart
Your poetry is a kind of squander
My cycling heart and mind think art
On busy days you are nothing,
Just a crystal sitting on a table,
But my quiet nights call on me to look at you
And ruminate about a few fables
They said that, her she it and them
But the crystal is not listening,
It ignites in a quiet rhythmic ‘hmmm’
Relax and tidy up,
The day is over little missy
Go on, and tuck your family tight
Perhaps tomorrow won’t be so busy
featured photo is my own photography©
A Profound Cup of Tea 