Simple Things

I love the orange glaze

of a setting sun—

like sweet yam skin

kissed by butter and done.

That slow dip low,

it hums like soul,

wrapping the daySincere Sentiments

in cinnamon gold.

I sip the blue

of crystal seas,

pristine like grandma’s

best china teas.

Waters that whisper

secrets and shine,

like truth passed down

through rhythm and rhyme.

White whips of cloud—

soft breath in sky,

like Sunday linens

hanging high.

They float like prayers

from mouths of youth,

moving with grace,

holding up truth.

And them green leaves—

bold, bright, and new,

stretching like arms

from roots that knew.

Budding trees,

they sing rebirth.

Proof that struggle

still yields worth.

These ain’t just colors, baby—

they’re testaments,

etched in earth

like sacred documents.

The orange.

The blue.

The white.

The green.

Each one a chapter

in what life means.

They are the evolution

of breath and bone,

the way a day

finds its way back home.

The steadfast hush

of night’s embrace—

a reminder

that time keeps pace.

So I love the simple

’cause it sings me deep.

It rocks me soft

when the world don’t sleep.

From dusk to dawn

I walk in grace—

a woman

rooted in her place.