Thomas Park, Unsplash
The First Could Be The Last
By Jane Tawel
May 19, 2024
*
The first cup of coffee
The last drops of tea,
The argument you always win
The look the mirror gives back to me
*
And birds in full cacophony
And trees that hold their secrets
And flowers that always, always die
And smiles, so rare, from strangers
*
But thoughts of you and them and us
But memories of such and thus
But dreams like intersection lights
But sleeping days and wakeful nights.
*
Ah, Life! Too short, too short to grasp.
Oh, love too small and love too vast.
Oh, seize the day, seize just this moment.
Awake and breathe. Drink deeply. Love.
This too shall pass.
This morning’s cup may be my last.
And what will be, no soul can see.
This moment is all I’ll ever know
A rare small glory is bestowed
in bird, and tree, and this warm, lovely cup of tea.
Hold all things lightly.
Keep holding fast.
Time passes quickly.
Next moment is the Past.
Yet what I am
that seeps the soul
is what I drink from,
what’s in my cup.
And looking up, to sky and rain
I can not help but hope
that birds and trees and these small hands
that hold your face; hold cups of tea
shall somehow live this moment well
to wake into a world of harmony;
to wake to live again eternally.
(c) Jane Tawel, 2024
Jane Tawel 