The Cold Damp Days

My plan is to pacify with a pillow

path and a sheet-draped fort,

a book about farts — Everyone Toots

— don’t mock.

In the summertime, he plunges into bearded

iris to talk to bees,

chases white moths and listens to trees.

In the fall, he hops after crickets

and startles plopping frogs.

With this wind coming in

from the north, we are forced

into rainy day laps

racing fast, high-stepping

marches with a singing bear,

a quick-tempo dance party.

A constant flow

of  invitations

to leap and crawl,

trot and howl,

moving in our circuitous course

to the reward:

naptime,

which I’ll accept with humbled

grace and tumble

into sweet slumber

at his side.

Inspired by: Beard, Rainy, North, Pacify, Mock, and Damp.

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Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

3 thoughts on “The Cold Damp Days”

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