In the fire pit the amber leaves crackle and burn.
The cream sits in its bucket waiting on the front porch for Mom to churn.
Les is a few acres up the street tending Mrs. Keely's garden for his tuition to earn.
Autumn has cast its spell on Christy's prize fern.
Chelsea sulks upstairs with a broken heart; she has a lot to learn.
The upkeep of the barn has caused Dad to become stern.
I jump in Les's Chevy rust busket and onto the dirt road I take a left turn.
As I pass our hundred-year-old homestead, I hear the crash of Uncle Kendon's urn.
I chuckle at the mishap as I head toward anyplace that will lead me to a new life for
which I yearn.
Author notes
Rhyme can be too repetitious just like our lives, and like our rhyming works of words that we sometimes like to escape from, so too do we like to escape the form of our lives. Just a thought. I wrote this today during my Business Math class. Can you tell I was bored? Naw, we shall say I was just inspired, LOL!
Adding your comment: