WORDS OF LIFE

 

Sunflower, Sunflower in the yard;

Why is poetry so friggin’ hard.

Your beauty is inspiring . . .

My thoughts perspiring . . .

The sun itself has me charred!

 

Knitting is not something I do…

It’s a gift given to few;

Mostly it is for the old . . .

Gift from Grandma, or sold!

Wait, I am grandmother age, too!

 

How I long for enough space;

To be rich, in this case.

I live in the city,

Where we artists deserve pity!

Instead we carry mace.

 

The pavement always below my feet . . .

Sunny, rainy or through the sleet.

Here I am in New York . . .

A choice I made, I’m a dork!

And happy to be of this elite!

 

Furiture and trees of oak.

Beauty my eyes love to soak.

I think I shall never see . . .

Anything lovely as a tree!

And available to admire as I’m broke!