“Now this is living!” says the wasp, with wings outstretched in flight;
The small fig orchard, still and calm, is bathed in soft moonlight.
Against advice, given thrice, he ventured to this place;
“The old fool doesn’t know,” he mocks, in a quickened, defiant pace.
Besides, his friends were talking; and he wants to come and see—
The whispered nighttime mystery, rumored in this old tree.
The direction trees fall
Can clearly be seen—
They fall to the side
That they listfully lean.
When life throws a curve,
Like a difficult trial,
And your row to hoe
Seems like a mile;
If you’re still kind,
And still can smile—
Life will get better
After a while.
Reds and blues and yellows go round
In a dizzying sight and a blurring sound.
It’s a far-off place in a distant land,
And this here juggler is a one-man band.
What do you get when God says no?
What do you get when cold winds blow?
What do you get when hope seems low?
I don’t know.
I have two paper dollars—
Just look right here and see;
And while they’re both a dollar
They appear quite differently.
For one is bright and crisp and new,
Not crinkled, creased, or worn;
Where the other bill is tattered
With an edge that’s partly torn.
There is an old tale of the Wind and Sun,
Both wishing to see the other outdone;
And seeing lone wanderer, each decided to try
To remove the coat from the traveling guy.
You’re in a third-grade classroom;
And as you may have guessed,
The kids are in the middle of
A trying spelling test.
Once Upon A Rhyme 