Poetry // Little ballads,

Little ballads are poured into the cups of a dreamer,
 bubbles climb my legs

like butterflies in a bathtub,

And the gardener in me wonders
when the sun will lick the mulberry shrub.

Little ballads are poured into the cups of a dancer,

some hands will rise early

like the hum in a melody's birth,

And the music maker in me wonders
 if I was made for this earth.

Little ballads are poured into the cups of a drinker,

bothered hearts will keep us running
like a beast with his horn,

and the mother in me wonders
 when my babies will be born.

Little ballads are poured into the cups of a girl with dandelion orbs,
dust sits on my guest room shelf
like a sky made of stars,

and the blue bird in me wonders 
why I'm stuck behind these bars.

Little ballads are poured into the cups of a stranger,
some kettle juice may spill
like a fine meal that tastes too plain,
and the traveler in me wonders
are all humans made the s a m e?

We all have our own little ballads. Some shout theirs from rooftops, some yap from wood porches, and some are quietly stirring their thoughts below staircases.  

Above are some pieces to a poem I'm working on about these ballads.
I always try to remind myself of the saying : "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."

Have a lovely day!