Matin Reverie
In the quiet of the morning, under the clear skies,
As the squirrel scampers, its tail is a question mark against the day.
The yellow sun peeks over the horizon, a shy child peeking from behind a curtain,
Its light dances on the still waters, a ballet of shimmering gold.
A sweet melody fills the air, a symphony of singing birds,
Each note a drop of dew, glistening on the canvas of silence.
Among them, a mourning dove coos, its song a soft lullaby,
Echoing through the forest, a whisper in the cathedral of trees.
I stand there, a man lost in the spectacle of nature,
Each sound, each sight, a thread in the tapestry of the morning.
The squirrel’s trot, the birds’ song, the sun’s rays,
All merge into a single moment, a snapshot of serene beauty.
But amidst this harmony, there is one memory,
A memory I clutch close, not wanting to forget.
It’s not a grand occasion, not a milestone or a victory,
But a simple, serene thought, as ordinary as the morning sun.
It’s the flashback of a shared laughter, a shared dream,
Of hands held under the starlight, of whispered promises in the dark.
It’s the reminiscence of a love, as tranquil as the still waters,
As enduring as the clear skies, as radiant as the golden light.
So, I stand there, under the cooing of the mourning dove,
With the sweet melody of the birds as my anthem.
I watch the squirrel scurry, I watch the sun rise,
And I hold on to my memory, a man not wanting to forget.
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