I think breakfast is sacred.
Even if you just stand
to watch the tea kettle boil.
Sunlit mornings and creaky steps
with oversized blankets
and soggy eyes
welcome another try at life.
It's dusty and quiet–
just a soul trying to wake up
and a cup of tea.
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I seem to have been only like a child playing on the seashore, and diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.