Joni Mitchell on a quiet Sunday morning
And the sun DOES pour in like butterscotch.
Good wine on Saturday with nothing left
to guilt you out.
A running hug squeeze of a child’s love
And the smile you bring to their face,
Making it to the top of the hill on a lonely road,
just in time to spot the first twinkle.
None of these moments are better than spent
Then the precious time with the souls
You have know so long.