Because-It’s-Monday-Morning Poem

Fog this morning, white milky wisps of mist

cradled my house when I awoke.

The view from the upstairs window indivisible

by sunlight.

I longed to see the old forested hills

rising lush against an ice-blue sky.

Wind kiss the shutters,

I’m shivering.

Inside I sit, sip chamomile

and write.

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