I wrote this last week. I think that the last few lines illustrate the tenets of imagism. The personification of the morning doesn't suit, but the rest does. What do you think?
Aurora sweeps butterfly kisses across my cheeks.
She calls me to rise and greet the day.
I lay measuring my breaths in morning prayer.
A simple pleasure awaits me.
I anticipate the rumble of the kettle
and watching the bits, apples, hibiscus, rose petals,
my herbal tea, swirl in the flow of hot water
I pour into my trasparent teapot
changing it from glass to ruby.
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