Welcome to my second blog.
Grandpa Jim that's who I want to talk about. And Grandma Theresa.
An Orange
Upon the plank-ed table sat a bowl of fruit, yet false at that
My son- so- grand on tippy toes,
With eyes alight, he thinks he knows
The cache atop the table stout is just for him,
There is no doubt his pudgy, tender, precious hand hovers over the promise grand!
About that time I espy could go awry he sees bananas,
Grapes aflowing, red delicious apples glowing his tummy rumbles,
Saliva growing in motion, sets himself a-going focusing his eyes gauges the distance he captures an orange without resistance!
Before his senses tell him true his prize is just a doodle-do
I dash into the kitchen grasping a citrus globe,
and through eyes asking I trade him his brilliant booty for a delight both sweet and fruity!
That is a poem that Theresa gave to me and I hope that the you who read it!
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4 comments:
Beautiful poem - and it fits you so well!
Mom
Don't you think Monya should put real fruit on the table, and stop tricking innocent little boys?
Hey, when you talk about me, you're not going to tell everyone that I'm afraid of dragons...and chickens, are you? Cuz I don't want everybody to know that.
Woo-woo!! I didn't know that your Grandpa Z was afraid of dragons ... and chickens, too!!
[You just have to tell about that! I promise I won't tell anybody!]
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