Yellow, over and above the trees;

my dusky little steamed up mug.

Dark grey, over and above the trees;

my tanned up little steamed up mug.

Getting sentimental over the view:

a lonely narrow road by the big wide one,

seemed to be halfway built

but forgotten along the way.

Came back home

with an excuse to whine

and saw her wrinkled, tired hands.

Her barely healed scars

from repeated wounds

when my bitterness seeped through.

Hard cold to her soft warmth.

All through these years,

her eyes so full of love.

Oh, through it all.

I could no longer bear,

just froze where I sat

and stared in awe.