I’m writing a poem for you, Jo.
I’ll fill it with memories and wit.
Now ‘tis pretty good, if I say so.
Unfortunately this is not it!
I laid it aside to get ready
To go to the grocery store.
Like so many other rushed times
I couldn’t get back to write more.
Cooking took precedence next time,
Then laundry, cleaning and mail.
I scrubbed floors, dusted, and dumped trash,
Ran out to buy bloomers on sale.
I washed cars, swept sidewalks, cleaned windows,
Picked peppers, trimmed hedges, fed dogs,
Sewed turnips, dug ditches, stacked bricks up,
And in my spare time I split logs.
I’m so pooped, exhausted, frustrated,
Whipped, beaten, dead-ended and tired.
If only this all was a pay job,
I’d run up and quit (or get fired)!
I think I will still get to finish
Writing my poem of wit.
Words keep on zinging thru my head,
And rhythm and pattern and fit.
Don’t take it that it doesn’t matter!
It’s mighty important to me
That you know I’m constantly thinking
Of fun times -- past and to be.
When I finish my poem I’ll send it.
I can’t say just when that will be.
Till then just remember I’m sending
To you love and kisses from me !
Your Sis -- Doris S. Jamison
Copyright © September l988
