Counting
My mother counted meatballs
As she plunked them in the pot.
When I exercise, I count each rep
So I know what is what.
We’ve been told to count our blessings
And, of course, to count the change.
Counting sheep to an insomniac
Would surely not seem strange.
A dieter counts calories.
(For that, please count me out.)
A KO’d boxer hears the count
And knows he’s lost, no doubt.
A countdown at a launch pad
Lets us know that blast off’s near
And the thought that counts reminds us
What we want might not appear.
If you’re counting on an ending
To this little counting spree
Then don’t worry since you know that you
Can always count on me.
Copyright © Ilene Bauer | Year Posted 2020
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