soup pot emptied;
five chairs askew,
tabletop cracker-crumbled
hum-a-long sweeping songs;
billowing curtains
and rays skipping up the wall
little fists clutching
fuzzy blankets,
books and sippy cups
book bag slumped on the floor
of an empty studio;
canvas half-painted
a hankering for gelato;
silver moon taking over
the roofs of town square
let's hold hands
sounds like my life!
ReplyDeleteah so authentic...thanks for the verse...read it over and over
ReplyDelete