All these things unwritten, passing
these moments I sit and ponder tranquility.
What is it that catches the eye
of Raphael’s little angels?
These quiet times before bedtime,
they hold the leisure
of the child angels.
Not that of great importance
but, that in part,
the necessity of sanity.
With a sip of tea and an ill idle pen
words of the moment pass.
Goodnight.
Author's Note:
Same today as it was back then. To sit in leisure with the intention to write and then to not write. The house is sleeping. For the most part the ticking clock reminds me that nothing has been written, regardless of the temperature of my tea. When tea is at the right temperature you want to sip it all. Why waste the best sipping time? I should sip it all. But I should not gulp tea. Why would I gulp Golden Monkey? It is a fine tea with complex chocolate undertones. I brew it by the cup. I enjoy the aroma. Well, writing is like that. Now is not the time to purge. I must scribe a bit and savor. Even if I don't write anything on paper, I must enjoy the weight of the pen in my hand and the feel of the paper underneath. Goodnight again.
Posts
