Thinking

Guy 3 likes to think. He thinks about "Danny: Champion of the World", the last book he read. (If, by the way, you missed reading that in your 11-year-old history, he highly recommends it.) He thinks about how magnets work. He thinks about how to bother Girl 3. He thinks about making a snowman then knocking the head off the snowman and naming it "Goliath". He thinks about his AWANAs memory verses. He thinks about the cockroach collection he used to keep in his bedroom in Hawaii. But mostly, he thinks about being 12. That seems just the sort of age that should come next, don't you think?

"Thinking"
by Guy 2
© 2008
RPE
All rights reserved

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).



Recycle

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