A drab palette of chalky grays
provides a paint by number morning.
I half expect my coffee drenched napkin
to run off in some caffeinated daze,
my addled head left to wrestle geometrics.
Admonished to count it all joy
I breathlessly count to one hundred.
Then, like an over eager child,
I seek. It hides from me, a clever ploy,
under a group of thorny exponents.
Three strokes of my pencil, beating time,
begin a waltz as Debussy plays.
Lilting cadences, weightless measures,
slowly unveil the hidden prime.
Ah, music, sweet universal language.