The little pink primrose sits in her pot
and does what she came to do.
She lifts her soft face to the sun.
That’s all she has to do.
The little pink primrose sits in her pot
and does what she came to do.
She lifts her soft face to the sun.
That’s all she has to do.
Old age has losses and limitations.
There are lots of comforts, too.
There are plenty of bright spots in my life.
One of them is you.
One little primrose
lifted its head up and
smiled at the sullen sky.
One little primrose
lifted the world up
and hardly had to try.
Now we’ve got a tsunami threat.
I say: Don’t that Beat All!
Haven’t we had enough to handle
through this winter and this fall?
The Anti-Vaxxers play COVID Roulette.
You’d think by now they’d know.
Omicron chooses the easiest.
They’re among the next to go.
Omicron dances and prances around.
There’s not a State where it can’t be found.
It chooses. It beckons. A hand of death.
And someone draws their final breath.
I have a fresh Do!
I have a new coif!
My straggly hair
has been trimmed off!
I feel like a
Woman of the World
when my hair is
permed and cut and curled.
My three old cats
all like their food.
On that, they do agree.
As long as they get
both kibble and wet,
they’re a happy group of three.
I’ve lighted a candle for the world.
Perhaps we can find direction.
Perhaps we’ll see a path to take
in the candle’s pure reflection.
The earth is unfriendly.
It liketh us not.
The temperature varies.
Too cold. Then, too hot.
The oceans are rising,
the forests on fire.
The food chain is threatened.
The future seems dire.
The question’s before us:
Will we do what we can?
Or will we drift idly
to the Ending of Man?