Old man who rises in the morning
And pours his coffee
Old man who showed me birds sitting in tall trees, and ten-foot tall basketball hoops, and planes soaring in the sky
From his shoulders
I soared
Now I rise in the morning
And pour myself a cup of coffee
And it’s the bitter taste of never getting my sugar and cream just right
That keeps me running, jumping, trying to
Soar again
Always one of my favorites! Glad to see this here. Such an amazing image carried throughout the poem.
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