STILL

STILL

Five a.m.
The old house is still
but for the hum of interstate.
My ancient Scottie drowses on the bed.
The puppy rests on pillows at its head.
Elsa sleeps, blanket in hand,
upstairs in her four poster.
Her parents down the hall sleep on foam.
The Airedale and poodle, little dog and big
rest at their feet.

My coffee cup warms my palms.
The grandfather clock’s about to chime.
Today has yet to be.
Its promises unmet – dreams undreamed.
The quiet exhalation of trees
makes sweet the air
before the day begins to breathe.

Published by

Cynthia M. Sheward

Cynthia Sheward has written poetry since she was a child. She was born in Massachusetts but spent her young life in New Jersey. She applied her English degree from Arcadia University teaching junior-senior high school in Vermont the 70’s. In the 80s, she and her husband built their own house with their own hands in the mountains of North Carolina. In the 90s, she returned to NJ where she worked for a Fortune 500 corporation until her retirement. Her work has been published in Friends Journal, Evening Street, the Bennington Banner, Fiber Arts Magazine, the Mountain Times and various other print media. She currently resides in Jupiter, Florida.