The sky is blue, and so I write

The sky is blue after days of cement gray,
wintry, angry days.
I am the whirlwind of dried up leaves,
a familiar, ancient smell.
Still, the waxing, crescent moon rises,
promising a fullness
in a night sky of stars.

The Mary Oliver Book Club met this week, so I try my hand at poetry, which I rarely do,
because the layering that poetry requires escapes me.  Still, it is an exercise in gratitude and humility.
Almost everything these days is an exercise in humility.

I'm better at doggerel derivative of A.A. Milne:

For Sam's Sixth Birthday

Samuel is six, t-rummy, tum-tum!
That's counting five fingers and using a thumb.
He's six, not five;
All of his family is glad he's alive,
And that he's six. He's not a tyke--
He's old enough to ride a bike.
Samuel is six.
Hang out the flag and beat the drum.
Samuel is six, t-rummy, tum-tum!

Today he's thirty-six. Happy Birthday, baby boy!