A tray with a rose, a glass,
a wicker chair under a maple tree,
and me in my nightgown because
I have nowhere I need to be and nothing
I need to do. In the basket at my feet green
glass sweats with chill beneath crisp linen.
My feet, bare and nestled in soft grass,
are damp with the leftover morning dew.
Even though
it is only noon I pull the cork,
pour gold into crystal,
slide down in the cushions
and sip
and sip
and sigh.


With thanks to First50.com for the prompt!

wicker chair


About grannysu

storyteller, writer, poet, gardener, countrywoman
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