Sometimes hubby asks me what I'm going to do when the poem well runs dry...
Hon, when the poem-well runs dry
There will be no leaf-lullaby
Quivering in the poplar-tress
No half-past-three in cotton dress
Skip-skipping through a flower-isle
Beneath May-welkin’s warmest smile
No soft, pink, chubby baby-feet
Or ‘thank-you for the world so sweet’
No little hands folded to pray
No tousled dandelion bouquet
No more blue eyes, blue skies, bluebirds
No hug-you-from-miles-away words
No miss-you-kiss-you-love-you lips
No wild-berry stained fingertips
No home-sweet-home sweet paradise
No winding brook, no binding ties
No buttercups or rose-filled crocks
Or home-made pies or hollyhocks
Or violins of wind and grass
Or echoes in an hour-glass
Or five-year-old with freckled nose
Or dusk’s masterpiece curtain-close
Or picnic-baskets, crackers-cheese
Or anything worth ‘seconds, please’
No bare feet on a garden-path
No quiet autumn aftermath
No small child learning how to talk
Or hold its head or crawl or walk
No happiness to make us sing
And praise our Maker, Lord and King
No new today to try-again
No rivulets on window-pane
Or forget-me-not innocence
Or August’s wild-bloom laden fence
Or yellow butter on blue plate
Or weathered door or rusty gate
No wonderment that steals our breath
No hope of Heaven after death
No flip-flop slip-slap on the beach
No chin dripping with juice of peach
No mother scolding while she laughs
No lilac-plumed God-autographs
No school of minnows in the creek
No sight so grand we cannot speak
No hand weathered by toil and age
No books with musty, brittle page
No free-for-all sun-shadow art
No good-bye, so-long tug-of-heart
No crescent moon, full moon, sunrise
No ‘mom, I brought coffee’ surprise
No well-earned rest for hard day’s work
Or any other kind of perk
No infantry-like rows of corn
No rooster heralding the morn
No after-dentist-chair relief
No high or low, gladness or grief
No fly-me-to-the-moon, let’s dance
No firsts or lasts or second chance
No my-its-good-to-see-you rush
No stars on snow or midnight hush
No Christmas cheer, no tear of joy
No bouncing baby girl or boy
No puppy-love, no bride and groom
No wedding-bells, no honey-moon
No carriage for princess and prince
No wish-I’d-kept-my-mouth-shut wince
No new-born calf trying to stand
No castles made of dreams or sand
No prancing horse with head held high
No afternoon, just you and I
No heaven-scent of fresh mown hay
No weekend and no holiday
No fresh-brewed cup ‘o joe, or tea
No sweet thrill of discovery
No lovers walking in the park
Or cricket-choirs after dark
Or sandwiches and milk for lunch
Or first-carrot-of-summer crunch
Or a firm handshake or embrace
No bubbles with child giving chase
Or naughty, naughty puppy dog
Or ribbit-ribbit of a frog
Or vespers trilled by meadowlark
Or storm spent beneath rainbow’s arc
Or zinnia, gaudy, nonchalant
God’s handiwork on back and front
No had-a-bad-dream daughter-son
Snuggling between mom-dad at one
No turquoise surge of wave on wave
No solemn dirge beside a grave
No table set for family-friends
No backroad that winds, dips and bends
No daisy-jars on window-sills
No twilight towers sprawled on hills
No woodland wander-land in spring
Where zephyr and spring-peepers sing
No teenage wisecracks, quick and bold
Which turn dear parents meek and old
No winter-spring-summer-fall tree
Showcasing nature’s majesty
No more hard knocks or soft, soft touch
Or campfires, barbecues and such
Or wishing we could slow the clock
While we go fishing off the dock
And talk about people, baseball
And never catch a fish at all
No simple supper salad, hon
Say, would you like me to go on?
…no dew-drenched dust-sweet July night
No hearty, healthy appetite
No earthy cares or humble prayers
Or teddy bears or green-grass chairs
Or need to trust or seed to plant
Or weed to tug or grace to grant
…or, oh look hon, those clouds look like sheep!
Oops, looks like I poemed Hon to sleep
© Janet Martin
I wrote this all day long and it's really just begun.
Maybe when hubby/hon wakes up I should finish it😀
