Clothed

When we arrive (with great fanfare—Before we are at all aware),We’re, one and all, completely bare,And I don’t mean in disrepair,
Or simply lacking underwear,But naked to the open air,No wonder that our tempers flare,And with our cries we fill the air,
I’m sure we say, “Put me back there!”(Perhaps a baby curse or swear),Demands for something warm to wear,A dress or pants or soft footwear?
And so it starts, most everywhere,For baby’s needs, we must prepare…So to the store we will repair,To clothe that little, wriggling heir!
But…I think it’s such a strange affairIn later life, when we declare“I haven’t got a stitch to wear”,‘Tis only true our first day there!
Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,With POETRY, we all besought,To try to make the week beginWith pleasant thoughts…Perhaps a grin?So Jenny, Charlotte, Mimi, Me,Have crafted poems for you to see.And now you’ve read what we have wrought…Did we help?Or did we not?

Next week, we’ll keep it short and sweet,
Our favourite pictures. What a treat!