“If only my baby can stay
little. Here on my lap, he sits
engaging me in his childish play,”
dreams a mother half out of her wits
by her kids who would throw fits
once and again. “What a comedy,”
she might say after the moment flits
by. Right now all’s a tragedy
to her baggy, sleep deprived eyes,
when she could hardly think smart
thoughts while she suppresses the cry
of frustration rising in her heart.
Yet she knows however much she’d moan
her maternal love is set in stone.
Over at DVerse, Gayle wants the pub regulars to write a poem using these words in order: stay, sits, play, wits, fits, comedy, flits, tragedy, eye, smart, cry, heart, moan, stone.
Meanwhile, WPC wants us to show what One Love means to us.