A gentle morning light unfolds, the start of Sunday’s day, Wrapped in quiet whispers, where dreams softly sway. She sits with open paper, in her favorite wicker chair, Time slows down around her, with no rush or care. The breeze is softly dancing, through the curtains by the sill, A glass of cool orange juice, a moment to distill. Outside, the birds are singing, in harmony with peace, She breathes in the calmness, a tranquil heart’s release. In the stillness of the morning, new hopes gently rise, The world is still a canvas, beneath the endless skies. No need for grand adventures, no need for any plan, Just the quiet joy of being, as a new day begins again. The paper holds the stories, of a world far and wide, But her thoughts drift like rivers, with the morning as her guide. She finds the smallest pleasures, in the softest of the light, The promise of the unknown, in this calm, quiet night. As sunlight starts to brighten, she folds the paper closed, Rising from her haven, where the peaceful river flows. She doesn’t know the future, but that’s what makes it sweet, The steps she’ll take today, and the people she might meet. In the stillness of the morning, new hopes gently rise, The world is still a canvas, beneath the endless skies. No need for grand adventures, no need for any plan, Just the quiet joy of being, as a new day begins again.