Writing

Redwoods standing tall and strong.

sycamores with mushroom-like foliage.

Maple with their sap soon to be syrup.

Willows weeping in the new dawn light.

Cardinals singing on the branches of a oak tree 

I should be nice to look at

Presentable

Effortless 

It shouldn’t look 

Like I spend hours in the morning

Getting ready

Because that’s conceited

And no one likes a girl

I wish for a day where my dreams do not change for each day of the week.

But perhaps I do not.

Because some days I wish for a future where I am always busy, in a city that sleeps even less than I do.

Based on the poem "This is just to say" by William Carlos Williams. 

I have drunk 

the tea 

that was on 

the counter 

and which

Her name was Violet, 

but she always wore yellow. 

I spied her from across the room as I hesitated in the sun-framed doorway, and she was beautiful. 

“Mama, will you tell me my story again?” Asks the little girl in my lap.