We all know the story of the three little pigs—
Two built houses of straw and twigs;
Not wanting to work in the heat and the sun,
They chose instead to play and have fun.
And they mocked the third pig for his planning and care
When he laid out a structure that was sturdy and square.
For he didn’t fall for the quick, flimsy fix,
But carefully built a house made of bricks.
It’s not right at all—in fact, it’s wrong,
Like a misplayed note in a perfect song.
It’s a blighted stain that shouldn’t be,
Like spilling crude in the open sea.
The breeze washing over me, from where does it come?
The passing bumblebee, how does it hum?
The chasing birds, how do they fly?
And why is it blue—the heavenly sky?
Make your life a living valentine.
February’s meant for couples—
Roses and romance,
And looks that say “I love you,”
Exchanged within a glance.
But what if I don’t fit that mold?
It doesn’t quite seem fair;
Are loneliness and heartache then,
All that I can share?
“Oh, no,” cries the wing-tipped cherub,
“Please don’t think so small.
Love’s not just for lovers;
Love is meant for all!”
“I am a honeybee,” the cunning wasp lied.
“But how shall I know you?” the wise man replied.
“Just look,” cried the wasp, “I’m yellow and black
With wings to fly and a stinging attack.”
The old man sat quietly, wrinkled and gray;
Yet, alertly he watched the toddler play.
Then catching my eye, he beckoned to me;
And stooping, I asked what his need might be.
He said, “Age brings wisdom; but there is a cost,
Dreams get dimmer and wonder is lost;
Yet there is a place not quite as it seems—
Back in the land of my childhood dreams.
Once Upon A Rhyme 