One, two, three.
Why are these months behind me?
Spent my time
filling the calender
I never lived.
I got a bit.
Not the juicy mangoes I wanted.
But at least the pit.
Some sweet was stuck to it.
I was hungry and it tasted good.
Now it’s dry.
And I have,
One, two, three
months behind me.
Poetry for the broken, the healed, the mind, the soul.
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Poetry that purrs. It's reowr because the cat said so.
Before I forget
A little something for you.
Tales of humour, whimsy and courgettes
Musings on poetry, language, perception, numbers, food, and anything else that slips through the cracks.
I am a stay at home mom of two. I love my morning coffee and my afternoon tea. I love spending time with my family. In my spare time I love to read and especially write. I hope what I share on here all of you will enjoy.
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Smidgens
Late night thoughts of a perpetual dreamer..
For those who read with music in their ears
I like your thoughts.