Sunday Morning

2 Comments

Tags:
  • Happiness

    Sunday Morning

    The early morning chill
    blows gently
    through the open window,
    caressing their faces.
    He stirs,
    pulling her close,
    and she nestles
    in the curve of his arm.
    He kisses her forehead
    and she smiles,
    sleepy eyes closed.
    Nearby
    a mourning dove
    cooes a lullaby so gentle,
    so lovely,
    they drift back to sleep,
    his heart beating
    a soft rhythm
    against her cheek.

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    klassik commented on Sunday Morning

    07-21-2009

    i am becoming a fan oops i meant friend i want to visit i want my Sundays like this. well done congrats!

    NenaT

    08/19/2009

    Lol...I want my Sundays like this, too....

    castlemist commented on Sunday Morning

    06-20-2009

    I love the way this feels....what a beautiful morning indeed! well done.

    NenaT

    08/19/2009

    If only relationships could always be like this, huh?

    A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.

    Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.

    NenaT’s Poems (31)

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    REFLECTIONS 1
    Sunday Morning 2
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