Sunday Morning Poetry

Companions

She lived with words in a tall white house.

Hundreds of books line her shelves.

They smelled like time, they smelled like rain.

Fanning the pages, she smiled.

I was ten when I found this friend.

Cherry pie steaming on top of the stove.

We sat till it was cool.

She lit up like a lantern when I rang.

Tell me about your teachers, your work.

Who's the bad boy again?

Have you seen that dog that bit you under the eye?

The plates were stacked beside the pie.

Her husband had died before we were born.

But she didn't live alone.

She lived with words.

~Naomi Shihab Nye

Happy Sunday, my friends.


Incredible image by Lady Scarlett.