The Empty Tray

Coffee’s grown cold,

I was wondering why?

The rocking chair no longer rocks,

I was curious why?

The raindrops on the ground,

Were without their aroma,

I was puzzled why?

Blotches of ink that dripped down my quill,

No longer made sense,

I was confused why?

Then came the screech of the Loris,

And with that,

The coffee started to steam,

The chair began to slowly sway,

The fragrance of rain wafted in the air,

And inklings were a beautiful piece of poetry.

And there we see a Loris,

As our eyes meet,

She smiles at the superstitions,

Holding an empty tray.