Countryside Lane

Oh, what bliss it is,
Grandkids on the ottoman,
Spin and somersault.

Carpet ice-skating,
To the the tune of her spinning,
Not a box, a girl.

Do I hear a squeak?
Yes, they pretend to be mice,
Hiding on the stairs.

They build a city,
With blocks on the pastry board,
Welp, no more pastries.

Yard sale on the lawn,
Lemonade, one quarter please,
They have cookies too.

Dogwood berry balls,
Baseball bat covered in juice,
Ripe for the hitting.

Dancing in the rain,
Umbrella sheltering them,
Muddy toes, that’s fine.

Time to go sledding,
They hope not to hit a tree,
Fire place, hot cocoa.

Sleeping on the couch,
Oprah on television,
Oh, what bliss it is.

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