Windowsill Poem by Lynette Lawrence

I'm sitting on my windowsill
in a cold September's night,
listening to the last noises of the summer
and watching planes in the sky.

I'm sitting on my windowsill
thinking about nothing,
looking at the sparkling stars
and into the endless black night.

I'm sitting on my windowsill
the most beautiful place of all,
where all doubts are buried on the ground
and where nothing is somehow satisfying you.

©