cronechronicler

Observations of an Octogenarian

Spellbound

Beginning with morning the magic appears
I open my eyes, greet another new day
Outside my window I hear the birds singing
Serenading creation and all it provides.

Checking to be sure my knees are still working
I head to the kitchen for my early pleasure
Smelling and tasting strong coffee restores me
I offer thanksgiving for these simple treasures.

I light a candle whose sweet scent reminds me
I’m only a guest at a banquet of senses
Stroking the wood of my grandmother’s chair I remember
Love is my hostess when I RSVP.

This is written in response to Dungeon Prompts: Our Magical Powers

24 Comments »