White
White as peace,
White as the sky,
Whte as a cloud,
Rolling by.
White is beautiful,
And endearing,
It makes me wonder
What I’m hearing
White is peaceful,
Not intenste,
It makes color
my favorite sense
Written ca. 1987 (age 9)
White as peace,
White as the sky,
Whte as a cloud,
Rolling by.
White is beautiful,
And endearing,
It makes me wonder
What I’m hearing
White is peaceful,
Not intenste,
It makes color
my favorite sense
Written ca. 1987 (age 9)
The mouse hangs around my kitchen, wondering whether it's safe to eat the peanut butter on the two loaded-and-wound traps. I look over, see it sniffing, whiskers quivering with anticipation. I wince and look away, bracing myself for the snap and crunch, not wanting to see the dirty deed or its aftermath. Like the spring I am tightly-wound. My heart freezes for a short eternity. There is only silence. I look back over, and the mouse has not tried to eat. It has won, for now It will survive another minute.