Morning story

Morning story

A lady, old and wrinkled

Silently sips coffee from her cup,

She seems to be waiting for something…

What is it… her call?

Her lower lip touched the European dragon’s blurred head

Painted in gold, its serpentine tail still shining

Thanks to years of monitored washing.

The trembling hand places it on the table mat.

Eiffel tower!

Painstakingly cross-stitched to perfection that'd put Gustave to shame

With her needle eyes, at a time

She went on for the honeymoon with her mate,

Now hanging on the wall;

And the mat!

It lay on the gleaming table, expensively carved,

Connected with stories of trees, forests, fruits, birds and bees!

The newspaper comes with the calling bell,

Sailing from her servant’s folded hands to hers;

She smells, then smiles and opens it up!

Her morning story is complete with

The touch of a brewing coffee,
Adorned with sonorous sips!

09 December 2014