Getting Through
For four of her five years, she andher Mom,Had happ’ly lived with us—a time ofcalm,And every day her mom, with hug andkiss,Would go to work and leave herlittle Miss.
So Tinesy Girl and me, we were a team,To have her here with me was such adream,And, daily, we would eat and readand play,Too soon her mom came home from herwork day.
Now Tinesy Girl’s most favourite toyof all,Was not a Pretty Pony or a doll,Instead a little music box that sang,With a little, purple phone (tospeak or clang).
The phone, some days before, haddisappeared,Both Tinesy Girl and me, we'd searched andpeered,Unable to find out just where itwent,Decided it would show—we'd not lament!
Now, Mama was a theatre carpenterEach day she took her to-ol box withher,But on this day, she got a bigsurprise,Among her big old tools, a phone—pint-sized.
She thought it had been wrongly sodispatched,And brought it home, where it was quicklysnatched,Then gladly TG played with it till bed,And when she went to sleep, t’was byher head!
Next day, when daughter got to work,she groaned,Again, amongst her tools, was TG’sphone,She smiled—got the message finally…TG was telling Mom, "Please messageme!"
Karen asks, "Write for me, please?"We write because we like to please!And we love her, you know that’s true,So this is what we writers do . . .We craft a poem based on a theme,With pencils, sharp, and eyes agleam,Each month we write and have such funWe can't wait for another one,With 'MESSAGE ME!' how did I do?Please go and see the others, too:
So Tinesy Girl and me, we were a team,To have her here with me was such adream,And, daily, we would eat and readand play,Too soon her mom came home from herwork day.
Now Tinesy Girl’s most favourite toyof all,Was not a Pretty Pony or a doll,Instead a little music box that sang,With a little, purple phone (tospeak or clang).
The phone, some days before, haddisappeared,Both Tinesy Girl and me, we'd searched andpeered,Unable to find out just where itwent,Decided it would show—we'd not lament!
Now, Mama was a theatre carpenterEach day she took her to-ol box withher,But on this day, she got a bigsurprise,Among her big old tools, a phone—pint-sized.
She thought it had been wrongly sodispatched,And brought it home, where it was quicklysnatched,Then gladly TG played with it till bed,And when she went to sleep, t’was byher head!
Next day, when daughter got to work,she groaned,Again, amongst her tools, was TG’sphone,She smiled—got the message finally…TG was telling Mom, "Please messageme!"
Karen asks, "Write for me, please?"We write because we like to please!And we love her, you know that’s true,So this is what we writers do . . .We craft a poem based on a theme,With pencils, sharp, and eyes agleam,Each month we write and have such funWe can't wait for another one,With 'MESSAGE ME!' how did I do?Please go and see the others, too:
Baking In A Tornado: Midnight Message
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On the Border
Stories from the Stringam Family ranches from the 1800's through to today.
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