Glide, slip, hop, glide, Ricochet rounds bends, Ponce where others jump, not unusually, Sophie does it best, Full of gleee, full of wonder, Like a ballerina, Grace never alludes her, Soaring like Iowa eagles, Cressing table tops, Never will my little girl roam, Inside kitty like her sister mom and uncle Black, Maybe one dayContinue reading “Kittens dance”
I smell fish then Len finally says he smells fish.
Len raises a Victorian modesty around hearth and heart.
Out doors world passes through Ted as if he were a screen.
I look down to see the fish.
Newbury Award not high enough.