the Rich GRAIN in its Wood

 

the giant table, luxuriating in my study

where I spent many days, many nights

engrossed, in my books of all titles

reading, for long hours with no sense of time

during the day, I opened my window

in the night, that old lamp lit to light

the table served me well,

it was polished, it shined

it’s surface smooth against my skin

I thoroughly enjoyed sitting on my chair

with my legs stretched under my table

tired sometimes

I even rested on it lazily

I owned it, utilized it, lived my years with it

almost developed, a relationship silent

yet to my surprise, somehow

I missed to notice

those dim beautiful patterns

formed, by the rich GRAIN in its wood

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