Therapy Bits

The clock had barely touched the dawn,
Three hours lent to restless night,
My mind still stitched with half-formed dreams,
Yet morning pried me into light.

The window sang a softened hymn,
Each raindrop drummed its tender part,
A lullaby I longed to keep,
But day had called my waking heart.

Steam rose like prayer from porcelain,
Dark river swirling, bitter-sweet,
The first bold sip dissolved the fog,
And placed the ground beneath my feet.

Though weary eyes still carried night,
The rain, the cup, the quiet air,
Turned broken rest to fragile peace—
A morning stitched with gentle care.