Strolling

Adventures begin

When four wheels spin

On shady paths and city streets

In knitted booties or tiny bare feets

 ~

Our big happy faces loudly giggle

My little pink piggy’s squiggle and wiggle

When breezes tickle in warming sun

Our shiny four wheels are always fun

 ~

We go fast and slow, up and down

Sometimes mom calls dad a clown

Birds and dogs, signs and sound

There are moving pictures all around

~

With me always on journey’s far

Folds up neat to fit in the car

Adventure time’s what I like best

But sometime strollers need a rest

 *

The End

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Four See a Poet Well

Dive deep into this poets well

Rise with weighty, weedy shell

Float atop seas warm and clear

Drown in waves of icy despair

.

To the heavens soaring high

Gravity wins in darkened sky

Climb a ladder to emerge

Swim alone I do not urge

.

Forever shaken out to dry

Life is ripped with tear in eye

Lips conform to truth or lies

Four see and hear no silent cries

.

Poets tend to dive too soon

Writes tomorrows under moon

Sees a future without a past

Writes first, questions last

.

Boards to spring, slides to climb

Empty wells all fill in time

Time gives, takes and lends its hands

Turning forever in shifting sands

.

A place alone when hot

Vibrant when others not

A place that’s cooler than hell

Welcome all to a poets well

*

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Empty Lot

Our empty lot’s not empty at all.
There’s a tree that’s extra big and tall.
It’s a place that us kids love to share.
It’s on my street so mom needn’t care.

`

We spend our sunny days in the shade.
There’s lots of dreaming in forts we made.
There’s bunches of dirt to dig deep holes.
Rainy puddles for toy fishing poles.

`

Our empty lot really has it all,
We hide and seek and sometimes play ball.
It’s the place where adventures begin.
A fence that keeps city out, kids in.

`

We’ve bugs and spiders, squirrels and cats.
There’s soft grass to sit for quiet chats.
We see dogs on leashes and birds without,
Some tweet, sing sweet others shout.

`

There’s rope jumping girls and running boys.
Everyone brings their favorite toys.

Weeds make jungles for our tiny men.
Tiny cars we lose then find again.

`

A place on Sundays for dads to mow.
A place anytime where friendships grow.
When the day’s fun’s done, I say goodnight.
To my old friend, under the street light.

*

The End

~

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