November Morning

Stepping from a warm bed,
the creaky chill of floorboards;
it penetrates bare feet.

In pre-dawn solitude,
this steaming mug of tea cradled;
an intimate encounter.

A treasured companion,
silence hushes the tick of a clock;
its minute hand stuck.

In abundant moonlight,
avarice is sparked by fool’s gold;
frost’s diamonds glittering.

With day’s soft whisper,
a tug of melancholy in the wind;
time marches on again.

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