The rest is helping,
though it’s busy still it’s good,
to think of not much.
The sun shines brightly,
invitiing, like an old friend,
to walk in their warmth.
Clock says eight past six,
but at least it is consistent,
I will move it on.
My silver cheetah,
stares out at me from the shelf,
looking so hungry.
Soon, the paintings come,
and showing my watercolours,
as they do appear.
Tiredness catches me,
and for a while I linger,
in a dozey state.
my tea’s getting cold,
and the day’s getting older,
it’s now fifty-five.
