My Girls
My Girls
My girls are all always on my mind
In my heart
Not within a stone’s throw
Make that a pebble-
Or a spit wad
Not that I’d use that method of communicating
Only disgust allows me the frustration of a morning
When I cannot reach out and touch their thoughts
Nor influence their minds
Every year there are more of them-
Every year I am inconsolable
Wafting around in circles
Wishing there was more of me to drain at their feet
In little circles pushing from the shore
There would be little sail boats
With real sails
And no motors
Only oars
And sweets and snacks to pack
For our picnic
Across to the island
We’ll call home
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