Cold Porridge
Patrick, Pearl and Phillip were fond siblings, in halcyon days of fairy tales;
Long beloved of Mother and Father, like beloved ballads of all nightingales.
Father was a successful tailor, creating finest clothes for women and men;
And they dwelled in a village near the river, in teal days of now and then.
Mother sold elegant embroidery, quite pretty, and often much in demand;
Like unforgettable, sunset rainbows, the anon recurring, prismatic bands.
Pearl and her siblings frolicked in the fecund fields, with finest of friends;
Betimes swimming fast flowing rivers, as peach breeze uncaring, wends.
Foresighted, fuchsia skies faded to family, who arrived at glace forenoon,
In fragrant days of fantasy, such as when a cow jumped over blue moon.
They lived in the house of happiness, when magic blossomed everywhere;
Like magic of dizzy, winking stars, when velvet dark weaves into plum air!
Wild, racing, red rabbits were sometimes seen, in red-carpeted, rouge fall,
On their road of refulgent blossoms, reflecting upon moon and sunlit waltz.
Nippy winter was nearly memory, when neighbors brought narcissus gold;
Then sat enjoying coffee and nut cake, and the greatest stories ever told!
Fuchsia Dark Eyes blooms were watching, when red sunset trailed purple;
And lipstick plants glammed up, while summer creeped, slowly as a turtle.
Owl orchids were imparting beauty wisdom, as cat's eyes meowed at moon,
Under turquoise skies fleeing fast, yet fateful steps ahead of deep maroon.
After breakfast one day, Mother made pease porridge, for a meal later on,
When they'd returned from rowing the river. They left mauve shades drawn.
But, a storm blew their canoe off course, and they landed on a small island,
That luckily, had fresh water and fruit. They were glad to set foot on sand!
Shortly after the family left home, a friend and neighbor dropped by to visit,
And seeing the steaming porridge said, 'They will not mind it, if I take a bit.'
But, having grown drowsy, Mary took a short nap, prior to taking her leave.
'Pease porridge hot, pease porridge cold,' as breezes waft fall hues of grief.
Nine days of bad weather went by, but on the ninth, mango sun reappeared;
Then the thin, cave dwellers were able to row home, cheering as it neared!
'Pease porridge in the pot, nine days old.' Phillip and Mother preferred it hot,
But Patrick, Pearl and Father liked it cold; like snowy peaks, gilt sun forgot.
When they finally reached their home of hyacinths, the family was so hungry,
That all liked it cold one diamond day; like loving what violet fate's brung me.
'Some like it hot, some like it cold, some like it in the pot, nine days old.'
Just as storm lashed, ruby lily gets pretty again, after searching for old gold!
Copyright ©
Evelyn Judy Buehler
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