It has been a long week of (needed) rain, but today the sun is back. To honor the big ball in the sky, a poem offered by Gene, our Frogtown friend who steps lightly on this earth. Especially when she is hanging her laundry. Thanks Gene for this inspiration.Clothesline Poem from St. Paul
The old wicker basket
sits at my feet
on the green, green grass.
My back's to the sun.
In their turns,
I SNAP
each garment in the wind,
clip it to the line;
all will be smooth and dry in an hour when,
each in their turn,
in a slow steady rhythm,
I’ll unclip them
and fold them
and drop them
in the old wicker basket
on the green, green grass,
just like my mother used to do,
and hers before her
and hers before her
and hers before her . . .
G Marault
The old wicker basket
sits at my feet
on the green, green grass.
My back's to the sun.
In their turns,
I SNAP
each garment in the wind,
clip it to the line;
all will be smooth and dry in an hour when,
each in their turn,
in a slow steady rhythm,
I’ll unclip them
and fold them
and drop them
in the old wicker basket
on the green, green grass,
just like my mother used to do,
and hers before her
and hers before her
and hers before her . . .
G Marault
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