We do not remember days; we remember moments. ~Cesare Pavese, Italian poet and novelist
Awards and certificates.
Remnants of my past.
Movie stubs, medals,
Report cards and recipes.
Moved across country.
Stuffed animal friends,
T-shirts, toys, and some trinkets
Preserved, so I thought.
Snatched from my clutches
By a cadre of critters.
Can’t steal my memories.
Note: This is a series of Haiku. On a personal note, the nasty shed has been hauled off (along with the pesky interlopers) and once again, Dallas is master over his yard. Now, to research what I can plant in its place next spring, keeping in mind the site gets only morning sun — any suggestions?
Hospitality is making your guests feel at home, even if you wish they were. ~Author Unknown
Come listen to the tale of a woodchuck pest
Who used my back yard shed as a nest.
He dug a deep hole,
Went out for a stroll,
And returned just in time for a much-needed rest.
Now Woody, or Chuck, or whatever his name
Probably decided I was onto his game.
He lay flat out
There was never a doubt
He was dead. What a shame, What a shame.
But hanging out clothes one Sunday fair
I heard a clink from the fence over there.
It was Woody, I know.
Or maybe her beau,
Dash into that lair with nary a glare.
I can only assume this rodent I dread
Was faking all along when I thought it was dead.
Didn’t mind all the flies,
Never opened its eyes.
Just knew it was safest underneath my shed.
Note: True story. Poetic form is a Limerick.
In any household, junk accumulates to fill the space available for its storage. ~Boston’s Irreversible Law of Clutter
They say one man’s trash is another’s treasure, but I can’t think of a single soul who’d be interested in the old storage shed Dallas told you about a couple of years ago.
It’s empty as a box of chocolates hours after Valentine’s Day.
But it’s still here.
Perhaps I should explain.
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