I woke, it was dark
I rose
I was somewhere in between
I moved, it was moving
I chose
Nowhere to be seen
I brewed tea, it was warm
My repose
The very thing I mean
I sat, it was quiet
I suppose
That time again to redeem
I thought, that's the sunlight
Prosaic
The light on which I lean
I write, it was morning
Frozen
Thinking of what might have been
