I last wrote a poem on Tuesday, or was it Monday
definitely not Wednesday, and tomorrow is Friday.
the week teeters towards its wobbly end
the way she, my love, wobbles on her little
chubby legs, we forget the days or hours.
This promise, back in January, to write every
weekday, to end each day in some organized
manner, including a reflection on the day,
a moment of quiet, instead tumbling into bed
exhausted, no idea of where the day went
but knowing that it was well spent.
tag: Mira
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment