Sheila's Dribs 'n Drabs

I ran upstairs The mirror showed A teenager awaiting me I was no more a child But now I find My climbing style’s too slow and mirrors show My future, not my mind.

Today I’ll hear the news, I’ll know That you, inside of me, unknown, unknowing, You might be Someday, my son. Today I’ll weep Remembering the other unborn one Who died before So you could be.

The politics, The rampant rough and tough of playground vows Of “He said” “She said” and “He started it,” The roundabout has teeter-tottered Swung and slid And slouched To politics.

Susurrating sea-song sating silence with its longing As the seasons turn to winter As the swan-song slides from sight and still Sweet memories of sunshine sleep Till night.

When my brother was horrid I’d simply refuse To tell him a bed-time story. Then I’d get the blues From forehead to shoes And whimper in silence “Poor me.”

Words like birds have twittered Heard the thunder’s bitter fit And in a snit They’ve flittered south.