Help me have a gentle heart.
Help me use my mind.
Help me speak with thoughtful words.
Help me to be kind.
Help me have a gentle heart.
Help me use my mind.
Help me speak with thoughtful words.
Help me to be kind.
The children of Uvalde
are a mem’ry of the past.
We’ve all gone on to other things.
The outrage doesn’t last.
Kids across the nation practice up
their spelling skills, and
interrupt their lessons for
their Active Shooter drills.
Oh, well.
The President got COVID, so
he has to work alone.
He talks with friends and confidants,
but does it on the phone.
He’s been both vaxxed and boosted,
but he got it anyway.
The moral of the story is:
Old COVID’s here to stay.
I’ve washed the dishes, and
I’ve swept the floors.
I’ve tidied the shelves, and
I’ve lined the drawers.
I’ve done ev’rything
I have to do….
but, since it’s chores,
I’ll never get through.
Today I got a letter
that someone to me did send.
Somehow my life feels better
with a letter from a friend.
Hangers are a mystery.
They’re never where they ought to be.
They somehow feel that they are free
to migrate through the house, you see.
I have rabbits. I have slugs…
and, very likely, other bugs.
They come with hearty appetite
to eat up ev’ry plant in sight.
The bunnies hop around my yard.
They’re looking for a treat.
I want my plants for beauty.
They want my plants to eat.
Uvalde’s just so yesterday.
We hardly can remember.
But, someone now is planning
for another in September.
Oh, well.
You’re not safe at a kid’s parade,
a school, or in a park.
You’re not safe where a
cold young man can kill you as a lark.
You’re not safe in a church or school
where young men with a gun
can kill you in a burst of blood
so they can have their fun.
You’re not safe when a young man
posts he wants to kill and kill,
and has a gun to do it with….
to kill you at his will.
You’re not safe where his right to kill
outranks your right to breath.
You’re not safe where raw politics
leads– once again– to death.
You’re not safe. Oh, well.
You