Sunday Sonnet
Of all of life's unending shifts and strides
The Move is one that keeps a strange allure
to uproot where the present self resides
and take the home, and all it's crap, on tour.
To enlist weary friends in petty tasks,
like where to put the box of porcelain cows
or invite questions: "Why have all these flasks?"
and stretch the patience your friendship allows.
And spending thirty minutes on a couch,
turning all ways to fit it through a door,
only to sour into an ornery grouch
and concede to leave "The Beast" on the first floor.
And if, once finished, you think you're in the clear,
Don't fret, odds are we'll move again next year.
Of all of life's unending shifts and strides
The Move is one that keeps a strange allure
to uproot where the present self resides
and take the home, and all it's crap, on tour.
To enlist weary friends in petty tasks,
like where to put the box of porcelain cows
or invite questions: "Why have all these flasks?"
and stretch the patience your friendship allows.
And spending thirty minutes on a couch,
turning all ways to fit it through a door,
only to sour into an ornery grouch
and concede to leave "The Beast" on the first floor.
And if, once finished, you think you're in the clear,
Don't fret, odds are we'll move again next year.
Haiku of the Day:
100 miles ran
over the month of August
Sore, tired and proud
Todays Drawing (Inspired by the word "permutation" procured from the Merriam-Webster word of the day.)
Today's "365" Project (Ten word sci-fi story. GO!)
Professor Crumple, after attending his Moon funeral, bent time backward.
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