Poem for a green cup
A green cup sits quietly on the table,
holding the color of fresh beginnings—
like spring that forgot how to leave.
It gathers light in its curved sides,
softening it,
as if even sunlight needs gentleness sometimes.
Inside, something warm once lived there—
tea, maybe, or a morning thought
that didn’t want to be forgotten.
Now it waits again, patient and still,
not asking to be important,
only to be used,
to be part of a small, ordinary moment
that somehow feels like peace.
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