Panera Playground

Wiggle worms,

Thirty inch squirms.

Tables are towers,

The bench has powers.


Mom’s not looking,

Trouble’s cooking.

Too cute to stop,

So we all watch.


One in blue, the other yellow,

Chase and catch the other fellow.

Mom’s now spied and on the run,

Out to ruin all their fun.


Grins and giggles,

Adorable wiggles.

They’ll grow up and it’ll all be over,

Climb the chair and call, “Red Rover!”

(I don’t usually plan to post more than once a day, but sometimes poetry just jumps out at me.  In this case, two absolutely adorable children – if they had been louder or really obnoxious, they wouldn’t have been so adorable.  I snapped two cell phone pictures, don’t worry, you can’t see their faces.  But they were so inspirational!)

6 thoughts on “Panera Playground

    1. It’s interesting how poetry either comes or it doesn’t. For prose, I have to sit and think for a while, or have a topic or study or research. When a verse hits me, it’s just like spontaneous birth. There’s no stopping rhythm.

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