Poetry Tuesday – The Familiar Things

Her young, soft hands

Clutch the cup of coffee,

Starbucks’ morning brew,

As she sits,

Nestled in flannel plaid pajamas

With a fleece blanket

Hugging her body.

She sips her beverage,

The delightful aroma

Entering her inner essence.

The warmth penetrates

Her lungs, to her heart,

Reminding her:

Her dear late grandma

Held her mug of tea

In the same manner,

Only the crooked, aged hands

Had known years of labor

At the kitchen counter

Or the sewing machine.

The same feeling lives

In both hearts.

Snow falls, relentless.

Her gaze turns to the window,

Finding peace in silence,

When it seems

The whole world stops,

Rests under a white blanket.

She pulls her blanket closer.

The fire crackles.

The clock ticks.

The hours pass on,

As do the years,

But some things remain unchanged

In an ever-changing world–

The familiar things.


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