THE POET AlSO RISES
The Poet Also Rises
Rising each day at three in the morn?
Hey, I am not a farmer planting
corn!
Just an aging grandma, blind as
a bat.
Covered by her tortoiseshell cat.
Not bright as most of you here,
A reply now and then, makes her
smile and cheer.
On affection for many here she
has a long list.
But after hours too long on the iPad,
her lovely arthritic hands hurt and
twist.
But I will be back when the sun rises.
And dream tonight warm, autumnal
dreams of belly dance surprises.
Love,
Panagiota
October 9, 2019
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