I wish
To jump in a pile of crisp dried Golden leaves and be a child Take me back there, can you please? I want to feel crunching beneath my feet Take me back there, can you please? To go trick-or- treating in a homemade bat costume, a black sweatshirt with paper wings Take me back there can you please? Friends with flashlights to brighten the night and startle the ghosts Take me back there, can you please? Halloween parties with apple cider and decorated cookies Take me back ther
Mother Laureate
Poetry was made for mothers, scribbling stanzas in stolen moments during bath time, defenseless against sudsy splashes, or silently and by nightlight after her child succumbs to sleep. Long works of prose demand rooms of one’s own, but rooms shared with baby dolls can be the birthplace of verse. Her efforts to tidy will be undone like a sandcastle by the rising tide, but poems, once penned, will last forever. Her most celebrated culinary feat may be smearing peanut butter on
A Fair Tale
Give me no castle. Send me no prince. I want a love plain-spoken and kind. *** I want a love to help me spin gold from the dross of our life’s daily grind. Courtesy: The Whimsical Writer/Mom/Library Lady – Ruth Lee, See Original Post Here
