How peaceful is the snowglobe village
resting in its protected place
high atop grandpa’s knicknack shelf,
the one he keeps out back in his private space
The woodshop smells like new cut cedar
while the old radio plays jazz-time concertos,
outside the birds take turns at the feeder
and grandpa tells stories of days in the village.
He remembers the names of children at play
and the brook as it rambled and babbled nearby,
he said he’d go back but the village was razed
then pavemented over for a super-highway.
Between working in a woodshop and doing yardwork - he will learn how to clean
She gave it to me in nineteen eighty-five.
It was a beautiful mahogany horse.
Careless and clumsy, I dropped it on the floor.
In a blow, its leg was broken by the force.
I tried and failed to fix it so many times,
But where it broke at first, it would break again,
And so, my precious horse could no longer stand.
It laid sideways on my shelf to my chagrin.
Then one happy day in twenty twenty-four,
I took it to where I met three helpful men
In the Leisure World woodshop by Clubhouse One.
Now my gallant horse stands whole and proud again.
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.