March 25, 2009

Recycle: A Green Post

In response to "To My Parents", one of my parents (the one that can be found wearing clown wigs and unmatching socks around the house... or out of the house) wrote this poem (between the hours of 1:30 and 3:30am I'm sure).


I never liked boxes;
they're all quite confining.
So why must we always
be clearly defining?

And who is the one
that decides how things ought
to be done or processed
or be written or thought?

A box is for sending things
padded with peanuts,
not living and loving...
I sincerely mean it.
If someone is used to
being properly boxed,
tell them to just try
wearing non-matching socks.

Then after they're out of
the box they were in,
go recycle the cardboard
and try on a grin!

© Mrs. E. ~ 2009

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