The Precious Hours Of Today
A blessing she’s well aware of
The rain is falling softly,
As she listens to the pitter patter on the tin roof,
She smiles deliciously anticipating,
Thankful her building’s not soundproof.
***
She stretches luxuriously,
Knowing the day is hers and hers alone,
A day to read, write and ponder,
A day to turn off her phone.
***
The weather outside lifts her mood,
A feeling of rebirth fills her chest,
Making her mind wander to precious memories,
Remembering it is she that is truly blessed.
***
Her eyes alight on a photo,
Sitting silently on the shelf, a love sealed within her heart,
No tears today, instead a small smile,
One of the first since he left this world, a shocking depart.
***
A sudden tinkle of a bell,
Brings her back to the here, the today,
As her little housemate zooms past,
Begging her to play.
***
It’s a new year, she feels the preciousness of life,
Hope, anticipation, excitement, swells within her mind,
As she considers the possibilities of the future days,
Hours, months, this year will help her find.
***
A lightning strike outside her window,
Resounds with a crashing boom,
She jumps and then giggles at her silliness,
As the rain drums down in perfect tune.
***
She’s at an age where life, any life,
Has released their precious secret,
It’s a blessing, even the painful lessons,
She feels them all with no regret.
***
She’s well aware tomorrow is but a promise,
A possibility that may never arrive,
She’ll take today as a donation,
In this life she has survived.
***
Another flash, a louder boom,
The universe has certainly plenty to say,
While she picks up a book to adventure,
Into the precious hours of today.
If you liked my writing, please click on the small heart underneath, near my name. Or send me a tip and let me know you enjoyed it.
****
Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.
If you enjoy this piece, you may enjoy this one too.
Originally posted on Medium
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.
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Comments (2)
This is beautifully soothing. Well done, my friend.
A very wonderful and comforting poem!