Under a Rock

 

Recently I was told I live under a rock. Here's a bit of doggerel in response.

***

Yes, it’s true. I live under a rock.
Shrink down to my size and join me for a while.
You might find old friends, long stories,
family secrets come to light,
A baby blowing bubbles, a crooked smile.
Neighbours reconciled, gifts given and received.
Quietly reading, a little child.
A kid on a bike, a kid up a tree.
The satisfaction of a pile of washing,
scented by the afternoon.
A toddler in a puddle, sloshing.

Under a leaf, small eggs hang.
The grapevine is now speckled red.
Mornings are crisp, autumn’s in the air.
‘The moon, the moon!’ my daughters said.
We came home late as it hung low
And dazzled us with its golden glow.

These are the things of everyday living:
kitchens and gardens and women and kids.
A life which is rich and generous and giving
– I wouldn’t trade any of it for quids!