Sunday, March 17, 2019


 Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to be tall.
Especially when I'm stretching to snag something off the top kitchen-shelf with a wooden spoon­čśë

I was born five inches too short
To fulfill fantasy
Because the Good Lord saw it fit
To make me five foot three

So, though I need a stool to reach
The highest kitchen shelf
I’ll be as thankful as can be
Because I am myself

And though, foolishly, I admit
I sometimes envy those
Who always seem ‘the perfect fit’
For any style of clothes

I do not care to waste away
On wish-futility
But make the most of every day
That takes my five-foot three

…so when I think my height a curse
As some far shelf I rue
I’ll remember it could be worse
I could be five-foot-two

© Janet Martin

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