You Will Make Daisies
You got up. First victory of the day.
You put on clothes. They even matched.
Another victory. You pet the cat, still lazing on the bed.
He purrs and you smile.
Third time’s the charm.
You dance your way down the stairs,
not yet feeling it, but determined you will
ignore the snow outside and never-ending grey sky.
You will make daisies.
You will create your own spring,
a defiant old man
with a reason to live.
About this poem
A poem of my morning. And the woman I love is the reason.