Dry leaves fall from shivering trees,
breeze nips at my nose and tickles my knees.
Time to search for warmer clothes,
for thirty little hands and toes.
Up the attic steps we climb,
grope in the darkness, turn on the light,
Sweaters, mittens, treasures galore,
Try them all on to ask if there's more.
Sort them, ditch them, inspect the clothes,
prioritize, organize, you know how it goes.
Oh, how these moments slip away!
One season I'm hanging 2T's, the next-- size 8.
Seasons' swift moments I have no control,
but I'll treasure and care for the hands that I hold.
Grant me the wisdom and strength for each day,
guide, and enlighten each step of my way.
[I am not 100% pleased with this poem (goes from funny to serious too quickly, for one thing), but I'm stopping for tonight. I'm up way too late writing!! Will finish later, just thought I'd share this much with you]
When Your Best-Laid Plans Fail
11 hours ago