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My Day
18 July, 2005
author: Rebecca Ditch-Hammack (aka Dreamer)

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My Husband's at work
It's the end of the day
I sit outside with the dogs
My hair flying like brown flames

The birds have stopped calling
They too need a rest
For then it's been a long day
Building their nest

The dogs watch for movements
Of the feline kind
So many cats
For just one they pine

So I sit pen in hand
Writing a few stray words
Hoping said and done
They don't sound too absurd

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Comments on this poem/writing:

barb (66.46.230.141) -- Monday, July 18 2005, 02:07 pm

words

you put together words so great. To me that's good writing taking everyday living and putting them into words.
Martin Vann (63.25.158.176) -- Wednesday, July 20 2005, 04:20 pm

Precious, The Moments We Share With Ourselves

My,how you dream,no complicated things, you just dream. Soft are your thoughts, a waging tail at your feet and the dreams you share, with yourself, so warm and kind. I can see you brush back your hair and reach down and feel the security of your four footed friends. So, what will we have, for supper tonight, you know, he is on his way home to you. I didn't mean to take your poem away from you, just know how you feel. Hey, let your hair blow and relax, we understand you.
 
Name:                                           Remember Me

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