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