.
.
Times are so hard
I must plow my
Garden’s furrows
Using a spoon.
Scarabs roll away
The fertilizer
And doves peacefully
Eat all the seed.
I harvest from my
Rocking chair,
‘Cause nothing
Is there.
Sweeping’s a chore,
For I must use
My toothbrush,
Which leaves my
Teeth all snaggly,
And to trim the
Grass my scissors
Must do.
The walkway is
Deep gluey mud,
And the road bed?
It’s loose
Blowing sand.
My life is in files
All numbered thirteen.
But I am blessed,
Oh so blessed,
As long as chlorophyll
And my eyes
Are still green,
And tiny arms hug.
Oh the joy that
Children are both
Heard and seen.
.
.
Bear … 06.07.2015
ⓒBearspawprint2015
GRANNY (me) with Photographer (Granddaughter) reflected twice in the sunglasses ⓒBackSeatPhotography2014
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bearspawprint 