The house is purring, quietly, everyone is in their own special place, 
caught between wakefulness and dreaming. 
Carefully, she slips downstairs, 
cautious, trying not to stumble in an effort to make the coffee. 
 Her arms and neck are stiffened with restless sleep. 

This is her favorite time, just hers; no one watching, no one worrying. 
As she sits in the morning’s arrival, she thinks of what might have been. 
She ponders what was and what will be, a little anxious to look too far. 
Watching the smoke from her cigarette swirling hypnotically, 
she sips the strong, sweet coffee, enjoying the comforting aroma. 
This is her time, only the sounds of the home 
the soft soothing bubbling of the aquariums punctuate the stillness of her heart. 
She moves her toes around in her fluffy slippers to get them warm. 
Her best friend, her dog, lies on the carpet in the sunbeam, 
watching every move but wanting just to linger in the morning sun herself. 

Soon the day begins. 

Voices are rising, doors opening 
and the serenity is gone, replaced by a storm of activity. 
Caught up in the rising tide, she laughs, and looks forward to the next morning 
 

Lou Wilkinson
 

Slaying The Dragon Poetry