This morning I thought I would write a poem about little boys throwing rocks into the river, but I have some leaking faucets to replace.
This morning, I jotted down some ideas, but Mikaela and Daelynn really want me to help them build an outdoor cage for their guinea pigs.
This morning, I copied and pasted in a poem about little boys (but it was too trite and played on your emotions, much like this post) and I didn’t have time to write the poem that I really wanted to write (you didn’t know I was a poet, did you? – actually I’m not) because I have a van load of junk to haul to the dump.
Someday, when I am a Grandpa, I will take my son and grandson to the river, and while Uncle Brock supplies his nephew with an unending pile of rocks to throw into the river, I will sit in the shade and write a poem about little boys throwing rocks into the river, how they never tire of it, and how the river never tires of it either, supplying them with a seemingly endless supply of stones on its riverbank.