Waiting under my covers
Like a dog scraps.
waiting for
on,
The nightlight flicks
Illuminating the room dimly.
My father sits
down,
Our special book in h n
a d.
He speaks of kings and princesses,
Unbeknown to him, it is i n s p i r i n g
To the little girl in the top
bunk.
She is eager to hear more,
Despite the "goodnight"s.
She lays in bed waiting
For adventures from the
Stories.
-
Author:
A. F. Naturality (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: May 1st, 2018 07:28
- Comment from author about the poem: This is another movement poem, but based on my childhood. ^^
- Category: Family
- Views: 13
Offline)
Comments1
most of us do not remember being in bed as a child. but its a life worth living. I remember!
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