she no longer <br />daydreamed <br />of sunsets <br />nor of a man on a <br />white horse <br />nor of miracles <br />nor of dancing till <br />dawn <br />nor tantrums <br />nor true confessions <br />nor her lover <br /> <br />she only imagined cities <br />who’s cafes she could write in <br />a table and chair she could <br />inhabit <br />with her pen and paper <br />scribble her thoughts down <br />drink a glass of wine <br />and let the rhymes take <br />her away <br /> <br />she would live her life <br />simply <br />by walking to the café <br />to her table and back <br />then walk from her table home <br />to a solitary life, of her cats <br />and books and paintings <br />and poetry <br /> <br />she knew that this <br />was what she wanted <br />when she woke in <br />the morning <br />after brushing her hair <br />and feeding her cats <br />she would put on her shoes <br />roll down her socks <br />grab her pen and notebook <br />and walk down to <br />the café <br />she felt a warm feeling <br />of home <br />not at home <br />but within <br />herself<br /><br />L. K. Thayer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/madame-cafe/
