This morning I thought:
Can I write with a fever?
But really, I must.
This morning I thought:
Can I write with a fever?
But really, I must.
If simple’s golden
With virtuous rock in hand
Let us play hopscotch
Do Wanderers take
time for tea as they scamper
o’er treetops and towns?
He fixed The Gold Star
I’m counting on Him to fix
The Greens and The Whites
My eyes are about
the height of your lips. Truly,
they’re all about that.
Brilliance bursts forward
Wrecking our plans to just peek
Prodding our prowess
My heart is hugging
the nurse and testifiers,
sisters and buddies.
I’ve 7 Babies
They’re born of you and me and
a woman I know
They’ve inherited
our courage and our kindness
They do love the deep
Battling big dragons,
they can lose their compass mark
-but rise each morning
Each epic, wide-eyed
one of them knows their value
and teaches us ours
Rocking their theme-songs
like a soundtrack in their souls,
their every breath chimes
The colors they keep
ebb and flow and radiate
from their words, their walk
They don’t question love
They live with ferocity
They know what they know
You give me snapshots
Of just what living looks like
You bring me balance
Thoughts, clouds and wishes
I call them one and the same
Lest the mind play games