“The days are long but getting shorter”,
Says the stately little porter
While we linger watching mortar
dry between the bricks.
My cab was summoned long ago
apparently it’s driver knows
How my scrunched up little toe
does ache inside my kicks.
But still I wait with bated breathing
fingers clenched and chest a-heaving
soon this city I’ll be leaving
I can hardly wait.
Will I be met with scornful glances?
Guarded hearts with pikes and lances,
reminders of the many chances
broken in my wake.
“Sing me songs about the weather
vases filled with hope and heather”
My boat is drifting minus tether
longing for the storm.
My brow is knotted with the worry
Were I a kitten I could scurry,
my heart is caught up in the flurry-
But I’m still going home.
-me
Hope and joy.
N