poem
in the sunken garden you swing
and tilt your head back
to look up at the pink hues
that still remain in the sky
before the blackbirds came
and brought the rain with them
i look out the window one last time at you
and think that you seem magical
with stars on your raincoat
i holler for you to come in,
and you jump off, tiny dirty swan
lacewings hold me at the heart
and pull at will, when the raindrops
fall upon the sill -
draping ferns in the dirt
i can see them, full of life
not opposing the rain
the fireplace rings out with
it's own quiet crackling,
spitting fire at the poker,
mocking my cold hands.
and these sounds i hear again,
your muddy red boots
being placed on the prairie rug
i finally see your pretty face
it's time for tea
the cat's hiding under the table
just where he should be
the movements shift into
clinking our spoons together
my fingers playing a tune on the piano -
that grand old welcomer
and tilt your head back
to look up at the pink hues
that still remain in the sky
before the blackbirds came
and brought the rain with them
i look out the window one last time at you
and think that you seem magical
with stars on your raincoat
i holler for you to come in,
and you jump off, tiny dirty swan
lacewings hold me at the heart
and pull at will, when the raindrops
fall upon the sill -
draping ferns in the dirt
i can see them, full of life
not opposing the rain
the fireplace rings out with
it's own quiet crackling,
spitting fire at the poker,
mocking my cold hands.
and these sounds i hear again,
your muddy red boots
being placed on the prairie rug
i finally see your pretty face
it's time for tea
the cat's hiding under the table
just where he should be
the movements shift into
clinking our spoons together
my fingers playing a tune on the piano -
that grand old welcomer