The month seems
to have been winging,
the poets all a-poeming,
and the singers all a-singing.
A month of happy returns
and of mostly joyful writing,
of true abundance, thanks giving,
and even a little snow sighting.
Winter’s not here yet,
the solstice will seal that deal,
but we know it’s just a calendar,
and we know how we feel.
Aching legs and shoulders,
and that’s our breath we see,
but no complaints allowed,
not before morning coffee.
We’ll tiptoe through the coming weeks,
and the new year soon will come,
to my sweetie, our old cat and me,
making it our peaceful own.
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