Dash of butter
Morning’s light indivisible,
random cheeps of early birds,
shears of gold in drawn stripes
and coffee brewing malty.
A dash of butter drips, streaks
down fingers on toasted bread,
our memories warm and cosy;
taste it just by thinking of it.
Sugar sandwich days are long gone,
pastured out and mowed away.
Skies gallivant broad and open,
the rising sun our guide today.
We limit cards and callouts,
relishing nature in its element,
wild and free and rested out,
our minds uncluttered endlessly.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, March 16, 2021
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