There I was sitting in my high chair. Okay, so I don’t have a High Chair. Or a bar stool. I just wanted something fancy, high-riding, where I could swing my feet off the ground. Take in the high air- not like the warmth of another winter. Where the hot air rises and I do too.
Where the bad news can’t reach me or get-me down in my shoes.
Where my toes are free. On Summer’s eve, even though it’s 37 degrees and snowing,
Where the dew of the morning gently rest over my curds and whey. Ignoring the bits of icy rocks setting sail,
instead my mind has gone to nearby cell,
Where my arms have no sleeves, dawn has no end,
with sun tan lotion and glowing. ah- the taste of sweetness,
Where the dew of the morning gently rest over my curds and whey.
Where the children say, ‘Ola, Ola
having a ball, tumbling around in the hay.
kindness sister, Krissy