While walking the fuzz this am the first few lines came to me and when I came in it sorta poured out. I don't profess to be a poet, but I sorta liked this and thought I would share. Sister Julie called and talked to Jim for a moment and she asked him what I was doing.
"Writing a grocery list," he said confidently....cuz that is usually what I am writing and I just let him think that. Yeah, yeah, a grocery list, that's it....that's the ticket.
Saturday Morning Poem
There's something to be said of a well worn path,
Of songs ingrained and routines that last.
Favorite cups with tiny cracks and leather books
-all smooth and black with prayer smudged pages exposing lack.
There's something comforting in trees that bend,
With leaves that fall to grow again.
The tick and tock of an old wall clock
And a dog who comes to rest his head.
There is something about words so glibly said-
Like thorns with flesh that clings to them.
While others still which lift the heart
so cold and wind and rain depart.
There's something sweet in a tiny hand
To give a smile and help us stand.
With a wooden pony, a one man band
Harmonicas and joy unplanned.
