This morning’s sun warmed the window
Frosted over by last night’s cold.
Dipping its rays into droplets,
It brushed on streams drawing the scene
As I sat alone with Earl Grey
Whose reaching figures warmed the frost
With the impatience of a child
Needing to touch all that it sees.
In competition with the sun
Grey’s childlike fingers joined the fun.
Watching this mother and child play
Drew a picture, in time, of you,
Where I could see little boys’ hands
Reaching out, big-eyed-excited
As you smiled while blending their help
Into the scene on your canvas.
I saw you smiling—as I was,
Like them, all I wanted was you.
My fingers reached out toward the pane
Trying to touch the past in vain.
© Copyright 2010 jimmyfin (UN: jimmyfin at Writing.Com).
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