Simple Pleasures

 

A quiet corner of the room,

curtains drawn to the night,

the gentle glow from simple lamp

that casts a magic light,

a book opened, page twenty three,

with hundreds yet to read,

the urgent ticking of the clock

muffled, paid no heed.

 

A glass of something warming

and shortbread on a plate,

the crackle of a fire

that dances in the grate,

the rustle as a page turns

onto unseen delights,

the brazen day extinguished

by soothing, peaceful nights.

 

A library of adventures

waiting to be read

in peaceful, quiet, moments -

a prelude to the bed

that beckons at the summit

of a stairway to your dreams.

The best part of the day,

or so it always seems.

 

Solitude and silence

tied in ribbons red,

wrapped in simple paper -

ideas nurtured and fed.

A simple gift to self

more precious than all your gold -

an unread, pressing story

waiting to be told.