Hiraeth

Steam distances itself from the kettle,
Rain does the opposite on the window panes,
A soothing pitter patter of thoughts cascade—
As black toast announces itself with smoke.

Memories of children's voices percolate,
Their footsteps fading into the rain.
Reaching out with a wrinkled hand,
A silver haired lady smiles graciously.

The clock's ticking reminds her of time,
The years have blended into thoughts,
And the rain is trying to touch them,
To water down the painful times.

Dawn's golden beams scatter the moment,
A bare wooden table feeling their touch.
The hiraeth moment extends into light,
As the memories are soaked in warmth.

Responding to the sun with a smile,
The lady welcomes her old friend,
Combs butter onto the toast,
And crunches an applause to the new day.