Friday left
And the week closed,
Weekend welcome,
Egg shell contents spill
Onto the fryer,
I'm cooking up
The bacon; crisp,
Sunshine baked
Morning on my toast,
The jelly's topping
On the butter melting,
Pork chops with the rub,
And the milk is splashing
Into the cookies;
As the orange squeeze
Fresh in my glass
Frosted cold,
Napkin rings
A message
To this day
Waking spring
Curtains drawn
Blossom dreams
Flowers never wilting...
(04/01/2011)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem