The blue cup with the butterfly

I sweep the dry leaves and the brushwood from the alley leading to the front door.
I rarely do so, as I seldom have visitors.
The night before you arrive, I know it will rain. In silence, it will wet the trees and the roof.
The scent of wet soil will greet you along with the one of the roses I planted near the entrance.
I will leave the front door ajar. It may squeak, echoing my old bones.
As for me, after setting up the tray with the blue cup with the butterfly, I will depart.
The kettle will be filled. The tea leaves are in the small white jar.
You will find tranquility here.
Stay as long as you wish.

Kenza.

8 thoughts on “The blue cup with the butterfly”

  1. No, no, please don’t go
    what of the blue cup?
    What of the butterfly?
    Without your sweet presence
    A thousand pretty artifacts
    A hundred magical fragrances
    Cannot compare with one smile
    One touch
    One moment together
    Please stay 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

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