Reclining, sipping tea,
computer on the knees
Lounging in my jammies,
needing nothing more than
catching up on reading
and my writing chores,
whiling the day away
seems really swell
until someone rings
the damn door bell.
Reclining, sipping tea,
computer on the knees
Lounging in my jammies,
needing nothing more than
catching up on reading
and my writing chores,
whiling the day away
seems really swell
until someone rings
the damn door bell.
There is no poem today.
The muses did not stop my way.
Regretfully I must decline
upon some vague truth to opine
Today for you there is no verse.
but chin up, it could be worse!
My father,
born 1914,
grumbles about his sore eye
and sighs,
“I guess
I’m getting old.”
.
.
(True story).
Well, hello there deer!
What are you doing in the middle of my lane
on the TransCanada Highway?
Deer belong in forests.
Get off the asphalt
before you die.
.
.
A little surprise on my way to work this morning: a large mule deer (I think) right behind the school where I work. He headed into the trees of the river valley after I stopped for him to carry on. Such is life in Canada!