Don’t ask me what an ideal life is.
All I want is a spoonful of heaven.
I like flowers and trees.
I like misty morning walks.
I like to come home to a
house full of art, everything
that makes art, art.
I like slow jazzy breakfasts.
I like lazy afternoon tea
served with fine chinaware.
I like quiet nights with Bach
and books. This will suffice
as my spoonful of heaven.
There may be quite a
few things better than this,
but I don’t know how many.