Mornings Memories
The morning sings of new beginnings Of fresh starts and new life brimming. The air is crisp with crimson hue And flowers are bathed in misty dew. The birds sing songs of joy and life, The priest chants prayers of peace from strife; The market awakens, the bustle begins Homes are astir with buoyant din. Life, seems to beckon and call Offering adventure and nary a fall. And yet I sit and stare out at the sun As memories flood in Of times once gone. Theresa. V