The Veranda Floor
Once I sat on our veranda with my sister, sweet Miranda
And the forbidden goodies we had purchased at the store.
While I nibble, neatly snapping, suddenly there comes a flapping
Of an apron at the door. My dear mother is once more
Catching us in our misdoing while her favor we are losing
Standing at veranda door.
Frowning, pointing at the floor at the shells we had been dropping,
Cracking peanuts without stopping, we had purchased at the store.
"Pick them up," our mother uttered. ""You are lucky they're not buttered.
They would be forever more staining my veranda floor.
We could see she was revolted so my sister and I bolted
To our mama at the door.
Neither of us dared to amble, bump each other as we scramble
To pick up the shells from off the floor, for our mom who we adore.
Vowing not to buy them anymore, unshelled peanuts from the store.
Ready to be reprimanded, though we've done what she commanded,
We stand still to be admonished, knowing well we should be punished
For the shells upon the floor.
Written: Oct. 4, 14
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