{crescendo} poem x e.l. jayne


a single beam of the ascending sun shone above the windowsill, 

striking the sleek surface of the cedar staircase,

radiating ripples of golden light.

nevertheless, sunday mornings during the winter solstice,

we sip peppermint tea at brunch,

reminisce in the nostalgic aroma of maple syrup,

and tacitly laugh at the conversations we overhear.

although the days are shorter in the wintertime,

to discern the arrival of springtime,

would make things all too didactic and mundane, 

things that are very clear are comforting, 

as are the things illuminated by the sun.


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