Heidi sitting in the Traverse,
Dad struggling to write this verse…
Verse rhymes with verse? A poet’s transgression
Um, let’s move on from this digression
Outdoor pool, not so great weather
Davison’s first swim class ever
A floating, kicking, paddling endeavor.
Shivering, teeth-chattering little trooper
Youngest in class, but Brock was super
Needs to close mouth when blowing bubbles
and relax and float when having troubles.
Brock at the riverbank, throwing rocks
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.