Pillows piled high,
a fortress of softness.
Blankets rumpled,
a landscape of comfort.
The tray balances,
a wobbly island on the duvet sea.
Steam rises from the mug,
dancing in the grey morning light.
Toast, slightly burnt -
just the way I like it.
Butter melting slowly,
golden rivers on crisp terrain.
The jam jar opens,
spoon poised for dipping.
A ruby dollop falls,
staining the white plate.
Eggs, sunny side up,
defiant against the rainy gloom.
Yolks like tiny suns,
warming my sleepy soul.
The fork clinks softly,
Like a gentle wake-up call.
Crumbs scatter,
a breadcrumb trail in my cosy nest.
Pages of a book rustle,
competing with the patter of rain.
Words and flavours mingle,
a feast for mind and body.
This moment stretches,
elastic and indulgent.
The world outside can wait,
while I enjoy this simple luxury.
Raindrops on the window,
as if nature is applauding for my lazy decadence.
I raise my mug in a silent toast,
to the art of slow mornings.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
YOU ARE READING
Poems for a Rainy Day
PoetryThis enchanting collection of poems celebrates the quiet magic of rainy days, inviting readers to curl up with a warm cup of tea and explore the beauty of grey skies. From misty mornings to stormy nights, each poem is a soft blanket for the soul, e...
