poetry in motion

At the dinner table last night I proudly recited a limerick from memory. Dad left for a moment and came back with the beloved blue-covered "Sound and Sense," all tattered and torn with notes in the margins. He fired back.

I'm sitting at my drafting desk staring at the illustration which accompanies Longfellow's "There was a little girl." Pint-sized poetry in motion, she's kicking off her shoe in frustration, determined not to finish her supper. I'm feeling quite like that little girl (frustrated), only I haven't the energy to lift a foot. So like that girl, minus the motion. But, if I could, I'd send a shoe sailing. I'm most certain a nap would do the trick. For both of us.

There was a little girl
Who had a little curl,
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good,
She was very good indeed.
But when she was bad she was horrid.

|Henry Wadsworth Longfellow|