The beagle sleeps curled on her chair,
Where she can keep watch
Over her binkies on the floor
And her mistress on the couch.
My wife sleeps on the couch,
Still sitting upright
With a sheaf of pages to proof
And her glasses sliding down her nose.
And I will gently pry the papers
From the sleeping hand
Remove the glasses,
Cover my dear wife with a blanket,
Gently pet the sleeping beagle,
Then head up the stairs
To sleep in bed.
In bed?
I'm a rebel.
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What a lovely picture of peace after a day of erupting emotions all over the place.... Hope you slept as well as Monique and Katie.
ReplyDeleteWhat an interesting comment to this interesting poem...
ReplyDeleteWell, here's a case where I am very glad that tere was no photographic evidence. John paints a pretty picture but I fear that my mouth was probably hanging open as I slept and, possible, snored...
ReplyDeleteI did make it up to bed, eventually.
And, I'm a bit surprised by the reference to emotions erupting all over the place in your comment, Mom. It was actually a pretty quiet day all around.
Quiet it may have been at Wolverine Lake, my dears, but at the World Cup and the "General Uproar" there was little peace and quiet to be found...
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