
I have flipped my calendar over to February.
January could do with a day less,
A century has passed in its 30 days.
Plants have lost leaves, from green to yellow to
The colour of death.
I found a cup with 3 stripes,
At a very cheap price.
Now, it sits on my desk, sleepy as ever.
Absorbing sips of chamomile,
A day at a time.
My handwriting was always untidy,
A scrawl at best. But now
It is unreadable.
Much like my moods,
Detached, maybe yellow, at best.
Seasons have changed. In a week, summer will be here.
Will that week be in January, or February?
Will it be in this year at all?
You tell me.
~insight07
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