The smell of new-baked bread
from grandmothers kitchen

the lights from the mornings sun
pushing its way through the window

the sounds of the birds
on the tree that touch the skyes

the fly that is traped inside the room
trying to scape this prison that I call home.

the sound of children playing outside
jumping in the pool of water
that the rain left on the ground last night

I have a pice of bread
and some tea

kiss granmother godbye
and begin a new day...