You know the sound. That whooshing whine of the toilet tank refilling. You know it’s bound To stop eventually, so you go about your milling. Subconscious warnings, Pushed aside as your need to write starts growing. Lost in yarning, It’s not just your joy that is overflowing!
Modern man, with his well-laid plans Can aspire to a stately mount! In democracy, there is always hope For it is his vote that counts! But the lowly serf, just digging turf Is destined to live with goats. For in his feudal society It is only his Count that votes!
This is a collection of some of our favorite poems written by our husband and father.
"To the Dad whose hobbies are as varied and vast as the interest of his children, but whose poetry is his own. Thank you for sharing your literary gifts and for the insight each one gives into the you inside you."