Pin It

Eggs & Tea 

The valley is a crescent moon of fog.

Great columns of drizzle, Corinthian piers,

Tower down the mountainsides.

The bark of the cedars weeps quietly, fragrant.

An owl murmurs in the distance.

At last, the tiny cook stove is hot.

I savor my eggs and white tea.

There is not a sound, not even the snap of a twig.

I stop thinking, and end my problems.

                                                - Paul Mann


Pin It


Subscribe to this thread:

Add a comment

About The Author

Paul Mann

more from the author

Latest in Poetry


Facebook | Twitter

© 2022 North Coast Journal

Website powered by Foundation