Good morning, dear friends and readers! My regular readers know that Sundays are devoted to poetry here at Adulting – Second Half. I either write a poem or I share a poem that has moved me, written by someone else. I consider this spot to be a little informal poetry workshop café. You have your coffee, I have mine. I share my poem, I hope that you feel comfortable to share yours in my Comments section. Poetry is rule-less, lawless, interesting and fun. I was feeling kind of quirky when I wrote the poem below. That’s what I like about poetry. It lets the moods flow, without explanations or apologies.
Longfellow Light
There was a little girl, who had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead,
And when she was good, she was very, very good
(Good to other people, they liked her being very good,
Very, very good at people pleasing, she was.)
And when she was bad, she was horrid.
(This is usually when she became completely fed-up with everyone else,
and their shit, and she then had a tendency to lose her own shit.
And by then, she was horrid. She became absolutely horrid.
Very horrid, really. Very horrid states it mildly.
Honestly, it wasn’t good for her, or for anyone else – it was just horrid.)
Then, one very fine day, the little girl got a brush,
And in a wee blink (and a lot of prayer and therapy),
She turned that little glossy curl,
That one little curl in the middle of her forehead,
Into her beautiful third eye, which was gorgeously
highlighted by very, very long, lovely, curly eyelashes.
And then, when the little girl was being very, very good,
she remembered to be good to herself, too. Very good.
And so when she was good, she was very, very good.
(Good to herself and good to others – very.)
And when she was bad,
She just had a little bit of fun.
And nobody got hurt.
In fact, it wasn’t all that horrid, at all.
And in the end, she just ended up just being,
very, very, very, very, very much
Herself.