Your words bloom like the greens they describe—sunlit chaos, whispered stories, a kitchen kissed by gold. Here, every leaf breathes peace.

The green insists—a potted sage by toasted doors,
a fern’s green blush upon the wall,
a window’s breath of leafy green,
whispering to kitchen walls.

Pots cradle sprouts we can’t consume,
while ceramic cups hum low,
and sunlight bends to frame each leaf,
a dance of green and gold aglow.

Here, clutter finds its peaceful nest—
a misplaced vase, a dropped pear—
while spices line the verdant shelf,
and warmth begins somewhere there.