Spring Days Poem by dave lessard

I sip hot coffee outside,
at Starbucks,
with my dog and
a friend with his dog;
it's early March,
mid-morning
and the skies are blue
with a few white fluffy
clouds passing by,
the breezes are mild,
with spring temperatures
and the sun warms my face
as we discuss old movies,
new movies,
a hike we are wanting
to do soon and
prime-rib dinners.
Such pleasantries
on such a fine day
are stored away
unknowingly
in the files of
my mind.