Agnes was 3. There were dead leaves, sleeping, on the roof of my car. The sun whirled, twirled in a spin - got drunk and got lost in the milky way. Mom said milk and whisky was never a good combination. I wonder if sun's mother said the same.
"Dad, the sun was born - but that doesn't mean it had a mom"
She made me scrub that of my notepad.
Lily was 5. Songs - delightful, nostalgic, powerful, full of life and there after. Played and we danced. The moon looked misty, looked high. Among a bed of stars - in his old age he slept.
"Dad, you're old..the moon is not"
Scrubbed it off
I'm of some age, getting older. Like winters, long drawn out, snowy winters, who've past their usability. Surrounded by my fall and spring..
Scrubbing things off.
"Dad, the sun was born - but that doesn't mean it had a mom"
She made me scrub that of my notepad.
Lily was 5. Songs - delightful, nostalgic, powerful, full of life and there after. Played and we danced. The moon looked misty, looked high. Among a bed of stars - in his old age he slept.
"Dad, you're old..the moon is not"
Scrubbed it off
I'm of some age, getting older. Like winters, long drawn out, snowy winters, who've past their usability. Surrounded by my fall and spring..
Scrubbing things off.
Hdk
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