This morning, six-thirty,
the light of the sun
flickers through curtains
to brighten the room.
Two glasses, one empty the other half-full:
the dregs of vin ordinaire darkened and dull.
Wind in the willow tree
Wind in the willow tree
outside the window
throws a quick shadow
across the stone floor.
The corkscrew, still holding the prize of the night,
The corkscrew, still holding the prize of the night,
lies on the carpet: a stab in the sunlight.
Beside it the candle
Beside it the candle
has dribbled red wax
down from the bookshelf
on unopened mail.
On the bench, the broken bread, Caullomiers —
the poem, unfinished, crumpled on the chair.
~ Pete Morgan
~ Pete Morgan
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Happiness is rarely absent; it is we that know not of its presence. ~ Maurice Maeterlinck
:-)
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