A Stay-At-Home Rhyme

The laundry basket’s full of books,
the clothes are on the floor;
wilted flow’rs sag o’er the vase,
a pretty sight no more.

The dishes don’t engage me,
they’re a load-and-empty bore;
the house is full of mindless noise,
cries and whines galore!

Lunch is prepped and served at noon,
no, never feels a chore;
the toys are stacked, the beds are filled,
I listen for their snores.

The weeds have come, the weeds are back,
for this there is no cure;
Our veggie seeds wait patiently,
the garden’s full of horse manure!

I dust the tables, dust the chairs,
I ready snack for four,
these little pumpkins grabbed my heart,
I’ll love them evermore.

An Ars Poetica

You are my gift, dear poem,
you are like my breath; you wake me,
and sing me to sleep.

You are my gift, dear poetry,
you are like my life’s blood; you energize me
and carry me on.

You are my gift, dear writing,
you are like my body; you move me
and support my soul.

You are my gift, dear Giver of gifts,
you are the Poet; you create
and you keep on creating.