Ink and Brew

Determined to write a poem, my pen ponders what to say,

Ink readied to narrate nature, or how morality is gray.

Stewing over ideas, this coffee might help me choose,

The cream, swirling within my cup, mimics the clouds within the blue,

Rolling skies and hazy hills, are like a canvas by Monet,

As hazy as the thoughts, in the margins of that essay;

Countless times I’ve read it, but I’m drawn to take another look,

The pages smell like a forest, where there’s a cabin by a brook.

Imagine the peaceful solitude, beneath the starry skies,

Over a crackling fire, I’d think of you as I close my eyes,

Now what should I write this poem about? One can only surmise.