Getting Through

For four of her five years, she and her Mom,

Had happ’ly lived with us—a time of calm,

And every day her mom, with hug and kiss,

Would go to work and leave her little Miss.

So Tinesy Girl and me, we were a team,

To have her here with me was such a dream,

And, daily, we would eat and read and play,

Too soon her mom came home from her work day.

Now Tinesy Girl’s most favourite toy of all,

Was not a Pretty Pony or a doll,

Instead a little music box that sang,

With a little, purple phone (to speak or clang).

The phone, some days before, had disappeared,

Both Tinesy Girl and me, we'd searched and peered,

Unable to find out just where it went,

Decided it would show—we'd not lament!

Now, Mama was a theatre carpenter

Each day she took her to-ol box with her,

But on this day, she got a big surprise,

Among her big old tools, a phone—pint-sized.

She thought it had been wrongly so dispatched,

And brought it home, where it was quickly snatched,

Then gladly TG played with it till bed,

And when she went to sleep, t’was by her head!

Next day, when daughter got to work, she groaned,

Again, amongst her tools, was TG’s phone,

She smiled—got the message finally…

TG was telling Mom, "Please message me!"

Karen asks, "Write for me, please?"

We write because we like to please!

And we love her, you know that’s true,

So this is what we writers do . . .

We craft a poem based on a theme,

With pencils, sharp, and eyes agleam,

Each month we write and have such fun

We can't wait for another one,

With 'MESSAGE ME!' how did I do?

Please go and see the others, too:

Baking In A Tornado: Midnight Message       

Messymimi’s Meanderings