Morning Mud
To Marcy Howard
Coffee starts the coming day;and it cares not of the past,
As each sip is a memory;that reaches through the shadows cast,
Reaching from past events;to the here and now,
Through the things we began;leaving us unfulfilled somehow.
The coffee has a bitter taste; but its sweetened by the thought,
That the creamer we used to add;is a memory that we caught,
A simple cup of coffee;stirs both sight and sound;
Becoming a symbolic thing;the beginning of what we found.
When the cup is freshly poured;thought comes with a smile,
I see you lips touch your cup;and our lips touch awhile,
Each sip is a fond reminder;that though the coffee can burn,
With you as the sweetener;a memory is what is earned.
The deep dark brown of the coffee;reminds me of your eyes,
Reminds me of your beauty; that somehow became disguised,
Every morning I have two cups; one for me and one for you,
And as I remember with each sip; I know you remember too!
I found you!
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