
There’s a lamp
On a table
In the corner
Of my room.
The lamp is burl,
The table is maple. On top of the table sits
Blown glass in hues of reds and
Purples and golds. When it is lit,
The lamp offers a
Tiny sunset right there, in the
Corner of my room.
In rich tones, as all good sunsets do,
Mine assures of a beautiful tomorrow and
Promise thereafter. So, I ask myself,
Why don’t I light my corner more often?
Why do I only wait
For the time when someone might walk by
And accidentally take notice
Of the glow
Of promise
In the corner
Of my room?
Susan Patterson
9-2011