No
I cannot sing
no
I cannot carry a tune
I cannot run
no
I stumble and run like a clown
I cannot hum
no
my tunes are all in my head
I cannot sew
no
I'm not in love with thread
I cannot cook either
no
this gives no patience or joy
not even satisfaction
nothing, just annoy
its all just too much work
all too much domesticity
Id rather have more quiet time
to read, to sleep to think
to walk with dogs in the woods and sit
nevermind anything on the stove, or sink
my life has turned to what I need
no
I just here by myself.
Copyright © Ellen Browne | Year Posted 2014
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