Stool
Tuesday 13 July 2021
poetry
On a low, wooden stool I perch,
Its sturdy legs a humble church
Of quiet thought and steady grace,
A simple seat in time and space.
It bears the weight of weary feet,
Offers a perch where strangers meet,
Where tea is sipped in muted hue,
And stories curl like morning dew.
No throne of gold, no velvet drape,
Yet in its modesty it shape
A corner where the mind can roam—
A humble stool, a quiet home.
