Customary Grace


The comfort given by a bowl of soup
To one who frequents this establishment
Is something that cannot be quantified.

Arise and take note of the open smile
Upon the face of our fair customer
When the waitress sets his bowl before him.

Porcelain cups perched on the counter top,
Waiting for the pouring of hot coffee,
Strike a note of quiet contemplation.

Another seasoned veteran arrives
And settles down in her favourite place;
The day takes on its customary grace.


©2016 Michael Fraley




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