Brunch Poem by Margaret Ann Newcomb
Brunch
I gaze across the river
to the trees up on Mt. Hood.
A pair of birds greet
the warm morning sun.
'What's on the agenda today
my dear friend? Same old thing
or perhaps something fun? '
'Well, we can fly to White Salmon
for breakfast and lunch. There's
a street there called 'Wyers'
it's perfect for us.
We'll split a mosquito
on toast with some jam
and be home in time
for dinner'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/25/2024 11:07:34 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Great poem... fun to read, made me smile. thanks Athena *** words will change the world ***