Monday, August 22, 2016

Sweet August



[This weekend I gardened, I cleaned, I shopped. I got all the chores done and then I sat and I sewed in the ends to a very large crochet blanket. And sadly, I am still. not. done. Eight months in now and I'm in the home stretch, hoping each weekend that This Will Be THE Weekend. Just wait, because I'm going to be SOOOO excited to show you the final. Who else is working on a big project? School just started, maybe a book report or two?]


I could read a book.
Or tell a tale.
I could draft a novel,
Or learn to sail.
I could put pen to paper,
Or run a marathon.
I could sing it like an anthem.
If it wasn't very long.
I could write all day,
And into the night.
But it wouldn't be enough.
To describe your fight.
Your stamina and strength,
Your courage and pride.
If I said I wasn't proud.
I would have lied.
I could write a manuscript
A play
A yarn.
But it wouldn't do you justice,
And I don't give a darn.
So I'm writing this poem,
And I'm going to read it each night.
So you remember how proud I am
That each day, you fight.

[So go on out there and crochet a hat, or read a book, or climb a mountain, or run a race, or stick up for a friend, or feed the homeless, or call your mom. And have a really great, wonderful, full of wonder day. Says me.]

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