New day, new year
cold outside, driving me in—
warm chair, hot coffee
still dripping, cup ready,
waiting.
New year, new creations
ready to be written, painted, sung—
all is ready, all is waiting
for the Muse
and my pencil.
New day, new dawn
what will be written today
is already on the paper
waiting for me
to write it down.
1
1
20
11
The new song, the new
year.
No comments:
Post a Comment