asks us for a VERY short story
Off to catch fish in a sea of gold,
Boy finds the oar hard to hold!
Drops it in the water! It floats away!
I can't hear what Dad had to say!
A DELICATE TOUCH
In this world of bold and brash,
Zoom and clatter, boom and crash,
It's nice when something makes us pause,
And view a life, not without flaws,
But delicate and full of whimsy,
Pastel painted, frail and flimsy.
This lady in the pouring rain,
With her little girl in train,
Under a parasol of pink,
Makes us stop a while and think.
Great big puddles, wooden shoes,
May not be what we would choose.
But would she want our frenzied life,
Instant news of distant strife,
Constant doing, going, coming,
Traffic ever roaring, humming?
No, she'd rather click her way
Through a damp and dismal day,
Holding baby safe and dry
And, maybe, crooning a lullaby.
Hi R.R. ~~ Now what? I guess it really doesn't matter now what Dad to say. Excellent µ-fiction story.
I like your 'A Delicate Touch too. "...painted, frail and flimsy" can't be beat when it comes to 'delicate.'
Re: "Dropped Catch"--I guess they'll be rowing in circles on the way home. I can only hear Dad yelling--can't make out all the words, though I can surmise the gist of what he's saying.
"A Delicate Touch" is sweet and thought-provoking. In my life, a slower, calmer pace of life (retirement) is so much nicer than the frenetic rat-race of working full-time and rearing children, cooking, cleaning, shopping, etc.
#@*&%&@ is what my mind hears Dad saying. Of course, with his child close by, he's probably only thinking that!
Loved your 2nd. I'm with Pat. Retirement beats work any day.
Your second poem is lovely, Brenda, and the first made me laugh. I don't remember my brother ever dropping the oars of the boat my dad and grandfather owned, but he was always causing some kind of fuss, so it's a distinct possibility.
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