The Morning Key

The sun is soft, the sky is blue,

I wake and think of you.

The coffee smells so warm and deep,

It holds the secrets that I keep.

The world outside is cold and gray,

But here, inside, I start my day.

A little light, a simple sound,

My feet are safe upon the ground.

A Cup of Quiet

I hold the mug with both my hands,

I watch the rain fall on the lands.

The steam goes up, it fades away,

It tells me: rest, it’s okay.

No need to rush, no need to run,

The day is long, but here’s the sun.

Just let the quiet be a friend,

It helps the worried heart to mend.

The Garden’s Song

A tiny seed in dark, cold ground,

It waits for spring to make no sound.

Then comes the rain, then comes the light,

It grows so green, a lovely sight.

I see the rose, I see the bee,

A busy world, so wild and free.

The flowers do not ask for much,

Just gentle sun and rain’s soft touch.

What Dogs Know

My dog just sleeps and does not care

About the news or what to wear.

He puts his head upon my knee,

He says: “Just stay right here with me.”

He does not count the hours gone,

He knows the joy of going on.

A simple walk, a piece of string,

Is greater than any big thing.

City Rain

The cars go fast, the lights are red,

The people rush, they hang their head.

But then the rain begins to fall,

It cleans the street, it calms it all.

The windows glow like honey jars,

The sidewalk shows the passing stars.

The city slows, it takes a breath,

And finds its peace inside the wet.

The Art of Small

A plate of soup, a loaf of bread,

A cozy place to rest my head.

A book that waits upon the shelf,

A quiet moment with myself.

These little things, they mean the most,

More than a thing that I can boast.

A tiny flame, a hand to hold,

Is better far than silver, gold.

How to Begin

I don’t know all the words to say,

I learn them in a simple way.

A step by step, a word by word,

A voice inside that’s faintly heard.

It’s okay if I make a mistake,

The path is mine, it’s what I take.

With every line, I grow a bit,

This is the way to master it.

The Window Seat

I sit and watch the world go by,

A white cloud in a blue sky.

A bird stops on the wire to rest,

It puffs its feathers, puffs its chest.

I do not know where it will go,

Perhaps it knows what I don't know.

It flies away, so fast, so free,

And leaves a little song for me.

A Friend Like That

You came to me with no big plan,

You sat with me, you took my hand.

We did not speak of heavy things,

Just simple words, like birds with wings.

A laugh, a tea, a piece of cake,

A moment that was ours to make.

A friend like that is hard to find,

A quiet place inside the mind.

The Moon Knows

When night is here and day is done,

The moon arrives to greet the sun.

It does not shine to be the best,

It hangs above to give us rest.

If I feel lost or feel too small,

I look up high and tell it all.

It does not speak, but I can feel,

The moon knows this: this pain is real.

Walking Home

The street is long, the lamps are gold,

The evening air is fresh and cold.

My footsteps make a steady sound,

The only rhythm on the ground.

I pass the house with porch light on,

I think of all the days now gone.

But I am here, and this is now,

I take a breath and make a vow:

To see the small, to love the plain,

To find the sun behind the rain.

Good Soup

A pot upon the stove so slow,

An onion chopped, a fire low.

The smell goes through the whole small flat,

It says: you’re home, and that is that.

A carrot orange, a green bean long,

I add my heart to make it strong.

A bowl is full, a spoon is deep,

A simple joy I want to keep.

Paper Boat

I fold the paper, sharp and clean,

A little boat, so small, so mean.

I take it down to where the stream

Moves slowly like a quiet dream.

I set it free upon the tide,

It has no engine, has no guide.

It goes where water wants to go,

A lesson that I need to know.

The First Star

The sky turns pink, then soft dark blue,

The day is done, and so am I.

But then I see a tiny spark,

The very first star in the dark.

I make a wish, I say a name,

I feel a glow, a little flame.

The star does not go out or fade,

It stays with me, a promise made.

Learning English

Some words are short, some words are long,

Some fit my mouth like a good song.

I mix them up from time to time,

But that's okay, it's not a crime.

I learn a verb, I learn a noun,

I build my house from the ground.

One day I'll speak with ease and grace,

But for now, I love this space.

Old Shoes

These shoes have walked a hundred streets,

They know the mud, they know the heat.

They are not new, they are not bright,

But they have held me in the night.

I put them on and tie the lace,

And step into the world’s wide space.

With every step, I leave a mark,

A little light inside the dark.

The Art of Doing Nothing

I lie upon the grass so green,

And watch the shapes the clouds have been.

A dragon, then a boat, a whale,

I let my busy mind grow stale.

No phone, no screen, no rush, no plan,

Just me and grass and sky and land.

To do the nothing takes some skill,

It lets the heart be warm and still.

The Small Kindness

You held the door, you let me go,

A tiny thing, but this I know:

It took two seconds from your day,

But chased the darkest clouds away.

A smile, a nod, a gentle word,

The sweetest sound I've ever heard.

It costs no money, takes no time,

A little kindness feels like rhyme.

Rain on the Roof

The drops are dancing on the top,

A steady sound that makes me stop.

The world outside is wet and grey,

But I am warm in my own way.

A blanket soft, a pillow near,

No need to fight, no need to fear.

The rain will pass, the sun will shine,

But for this hour, this peace is mine.

My Hands

My hands can hold a cup of tea,

Can open books and set them free.

Can tie a shoe, can pet a cat,

Can draw a bird or chase a rat.

They are not perfect, not so strong,

But they have held me all along.

They wave hello, they wave goodbye,

They point to clouds up in the sky.

The Library Quiet

The room is still, the lights are low,

The books sit in a gentle row.

Each spine has got a tale inside,

A secret that it wants to hide.

I pull one out and start to read,

A different world, a different seed.

I travel far without a car,

The library quiet is my star.

Sunday Morning

No alarm, no rush, no race,

Just slow sun on my sleepy face.

The house is quiet, not a sound,

The peace is deep and all around.

I make a tea, I toast some bread,

I let the good thoughts fill my head.

The week will come with all its load,

But Sunday morning is my road.

The Last Cookie

There is one cookie on the plate,

Should I eat it now or wait?

I look at it, it looks at me,

A little friend, so sweet, so wee.

I take a bite, it melts away,

The perfect end to my long day.

No guilt, no shame, just pure delight,

The last cookie feels so right.

Shadows

The sun is low, the shadows grow,

They stretch their legs and move so slow.

A giant hand upon the wall,

A dancing tree that's ten feet tall.

I wave my arms, the shadow waves,

It follows me, it never saves.

But that's okay, it's just a friend,

That stays with me until the end.

The Old Key

I found a key upon the ground,

So old, so small, so darkly browned.

What does it open? I will never know,

A box, a heart, a long ago.

I put it in my pocket deep,

A little secret I can keep.

Not every lock needs to be turned,

Not every lesson needs to be learned.

Planting a Seed

I push my finger in the dirt,

A tiny hole that does not hurt.

I drop the seed so small and brown,

Then gently press the soft earth down.

I give some water, give some light,

Then wait and trust with all my might.

The seed does not scream or shout,

It just grows up when time runs out.

The Bus Ride

The bus is full of different faces,

Going to different times and places.

A lady reads, a man just stares,

A child counts the passing squares.

I look outside at shops and trees,

And feel the motion, feel the breeze.

We do not speak, but still we share,

This moving room, this public prayer.

Mending Things

A hole in my sock, a tear in my shirt,

A little rip that does not hurt.

I take a needle, take a thread,

And fix the thing inside my bed.

It is not perfect, I can see,

But now it's part of part of me.

A scar, a line, a story too,

A thing that says: I cared for you.

The Empty Chair

There is a chair that no one sits in,

Since the one who loved it quit in.

But I still see them in my mind,

A cup of tea, a book, a kind.

The chair is empty, yes it's true,

But love still sits there, right on cue.

No body there, but still a glow,

A thing that time cannot turn low.

Just Tonight

Let the dishes stay undone,

Let the day be lost or won.

Let the floor stay on its own,

I will rest here, all alone.

Just tonight, I will be still,

Let the world go up the hill.

Just tonight, no need to fight,

I will hold myself so tight.

The Pencil

A simple pencil in my hand,

Can draw a house or draw a land.

It makes mistakes, but that's okay,

An eraser takes them all away.

It grows so short with every line,

A little death, but that's a sign:

That I have used it well and true,

A life well spent is life I knew.

Waiting for the Bus

The bench is cold, the wind is light,

I watch the cars in black and white.

The sky is big, the clouds are slow,

I have no place I need to go.

The bus will come, the bus will leave,

I sit and watch and breathe and breathe.

A moment here, a pause so plain,

Is not a loss, it is a gain.

The Cat on the Wall

A ginger cat with paws so small,

Is sitting proudly on the wall.

It cleans its face with perfect grace,

And looks at me, then down the place.

It does not care about the time,

It does not try to make a rhyme.

It just exists, so calm, so free,

That cat on the wall is teaching me.

The First Bite

The bread is warm, the butter melts,

The best of all the things I've felt.

I close my eyes, I take a bite,

The world goes quiet, soft, and light.

No fancy dish, no big expense,

Just simple food that makes sense.

The first bite knows just what to do,

It says: I am here for you.

A Letter Never Sent

I wrote some words upon a page,

About my heart, about my age.

I told the truth, I said it all,

The big, the small, the rise, the fall.

But I did not send it, no I didn't,

The moment passed, the feeling hidden.

Sometimes it helps just to write it down,

To hold the words, to own the crown.

The Laundry Basket

The clothes are piled, a mountain high,

A job I always put off, why?

I grab a sock, I find its friend,

The search goes on until the end.

But in the basket, soft and warm,

There is a peace inside the storm.

A simple chore, a quiet beat,

A folding hands, a job complete.

The Old Photograph

A paper square, a color gone,

A moment that is moving on.

A face I know, a smile so wide,

A younger me with nothing to hide.

I look at it and feel the years,

The joy, the love, the tiny fears.

The moment lives, though time has passed,

The photograph holds it fast.

The Sound of Wind

The wind is talking through the trees,

It makes a sound that sounds like seas.

It comes from far, I do not know,

A place that has no sun or snow.

I close my eyes and let it speak,

A language soft, a language weak.

I do not understand the words,

But I am heard, but I am heard.

A Piece of String

A piece of string, so long, so thin,

What can I make? What can begin?

A bracelet for a friend I love,

A little gift from up above.

I tie a knot, I make a loop,

A tiny circle, a small group.

The string is cheap, the worth is high,

It means: I saw you, you and I.

The Empty Page

The page is white, the pen is black,

There is no going back.

I do not know what words will come,

My mind is quiet, almost numb.

But then a line, and then a word,

A sound I faintly heard.

The empty page becomes a friend,

It helps my heart to mend.

Rain Boots

I put my rain boots on my feet,

And jump in puddles on the street.

The water splashes, high and low,

A little joy that children know.

I am not young, but who decides

That joy must hide, that joy must hide?

The rain boots make a happy sound,

The joy is found, the joy is found.

The Lamp at Night

A single lamp beside my bed,

A circle of soft yellow spread.

It keeps the monsters far away,

And helps me make it through the day.

I read a book, I write a line,

This little light is mine, all mine.

When morning comes, it fades away,

But it comes back at end of day.

The Baker's Window

I pass the shop, I stop and stare,

The breads are lined with so much care.

A round one here, a long one there,

The smell of flour fills the air.

I cannot buy, I have no need,

But just to look is good indeed.

The baker works with flour and yeast,

A quiet art, a daily feast.

Letting Go

I held it tight with all my might,

A thing I thought I needed right.

But my hand got sore, my arm got tired,

The thing I held was not required.

I opened up, I let it fall,

It did not matter after all.

The space it left is now so wide,

A place for air, a place to hide.

The Final Page

This is the end, or just a pause,

A moment for a small applause.

The book is full, the ink is dry,

I close the cover with a sigh.

But words live on inside the mind,

For anyone who wants to find.

A simple poem, a quiet glow,

A place to rest, a place to grow.

The Candle Flame

A tiny flame upon the shelf,

It dances only for itself.

It bends and sways but does not fall,

A quiet light to warm us all.

I watch it flicker, watch it glow,

It teaches me what I should know:

That even small and fragile things,

Can hold the dark and grow their wings.

The Sidewalk Crack

A crack upon the concrete grey,

A little crack, a common way.

But from that crack, a flower grows,

A purple bloom, a stem that knows.

It does not ask for better ground,

It makes its home where it was found.

A lesson there for you and me:

To bloom right where we're meant to be.

The Spare Key

I hide a key beneath the stone,

For when I feel too tired, alone.

It waits for me, so cold, so still,

A little promise, a little will.

One day I'll use it, maybe soon,

To open up a brand new room.

But for today, it stays in place,

A hidden hope, a quiet grace.

Counting Stars

I lie outside when night is deep,