101 things to do, I know.
A tendency to go go go.
But if you find your pace you slow,
I promise you won’t regret it.
My tables are covered, both of them.
The laundry room’s a dirty den.
May not our sorrows from these things stem.
For they are always with us.
Sit down to read a picture book.
Don’t fly through it—really look
At all the faces drawn inside
And at the little faces at your side,
Just listening.
Tomorrow is another day.
But for now, relax.
It’s Saturday!
(This corny poem is brought to you by RealBlogging.com.
Just kidding.)
Leave a Reply