A new, but old poem

The last few days I have been at school for work days and I always find odd things when I am going through my stuff and trying to plan for the next few weeks at school. Recently I was looking through my school lap top for some of the poems I had typed up to share with my kids from last year and I came across a poem that didn't look familiar in my document list. I opened it up, started to read, thought to myself that this was a good little poem and then stopped. I got to the line about the green chair and it hit me: THIS IS MY POEM! I wrote it last year when I taught poetry at the end of the year. Funny....so here is a new, but old poem:


Solitude

Sunday mornings creep in like dreams
Rarely noticed, quiet, soft-
Like a mother's touch or a baby's sigh.

Sitting in the dirty green chair
I wait.

Wait for the toast to spring up
Wait for the pulp to settle in my glass
Wait for the sun to slowly crest the horizon.

Sunday morning the sun kisses the world
Good Morning.