Solace

Solace

The mornings were tintinnabulous,
Not at all fantabulous,
It began with his toes forced apart,
By dehydration that struck to the heart,
And it traveled to his calves,
Tearing his stance into two halves,
The cold bit his spine near his hips,
Thoroughly reminded he was ill-equipped,
To deal with the day unmedicated,
To prolong his abstinence from being sedated,
So he could forget and arrest,
The three-legged race in his chest,
So he could sit and enjoy a day out of bed,
Sip tea and and look into the countryside instead,
Forget the pounding allergy in his brain,
And concentrate on the pitter-patter of rain,
It was there within those drops,
The turning leaves as, in the air, they flopped,
He found his solace, his cloak,
There, inside, his coals he did stoke,
Produced embers of gold rising higher,
Elevated spirits to admire,
To spread some momentary warmth, some fire,
For those who wish to forget all things dire,
To find time for himself instead,
To sip tea in view of the countryside,
Where all things good were at once spied.


Invino Veritas
12/12/11
EOF