From what was a hushed night
We have now, morning
The silence remnants,
Still enveloping creek and corner
Soon it will have competition
When with sunrise, comes the bustle
And with the bustle, comes the hustle
The hustle, bringing forth a new chapter
The living are readying
To attack the day
Such zeal, such motivation
Pot scoops of such, invaluable
A brand new day
For the lonesome, the nurturers
For the caretakers, the peacemakers
Even more brilliant of a day, for a dreamer
Empty glass, reflection of light,
A breath of fresh air, a fresh start,
At the very bottom, I commence.
Pour a little in, not quite full
A long way to the top, It’s a tough going.
Spills maybe, if pouring is done by the slapdash type.
Meticulosity, is a virtue I must cherish.
Chilled up glass, don’t sweat too much when left to stand,
Procrastinate not, time will not lend you beyond what she designates.
Pour in warm? You won’t be fond of drinking.
Don’t compromise the best for second-rate.
Fill up, to the brim, Maslow would be proud,
Still be mindful, to keep full, you must spill not.
The real prize is in remaining at the top.
The gold rimming is wearing off, reminding of some maintenance.
You might be elevated but some self improvement is always an honorarium.
Empty glass, now full, not always a certainty.
However fragile forever, yes a demerit.
You are prone to negativity, stay sapient.
Empty glass, full glass, broken glass, a purchase is due.
You fall down, you pick yourself up, and start anew.