MargaretE.

A quaint little house, surrounded by gardens
With a swing that creaks with age
Out in the back, the koi float through the water
As though pulled from a delicate page

Up the steps and through the house

Forty eight days and counting
Will this ever end?
15 days are mounting
Since I’ve seen a friend

I love my family dearly
But not so much the chores
But I miss the world severely 
Even going to the stores

All of my poems are written at midnight
As the moon watches wisely from the sky
I write them all in a warm soft light
To coax the words from where they spy

Some words are timid
They must be handled with care

Could will be couldn’t
But would can’t be shouldn’t 
Didn’t I make that clear

For it can’t be am
And is won’t be was 
Unless did could be doesn’t too

 

Slower
Faster
Quick Quick Quick
The rain on the roof
Goes
Click Click Click
 

Pitter Patter Pitter Patter
Hear the rain call
Spitter Spatter Spitter Spatter
Singing as it falls