4.24b

This morning, I wrote an epic poem about socks/loss. I fell into rhyme without trying to. Here are a few of the better rhymes that I thought were worth texting to my sister (and thus are saved).

The sky took offence

and did strike him but twice

--no small matter--

with softballs of ice.

. . .

He never finished his task

so the sky struck them both.

"Both?" You might ask.

"From whence did the second man come?"

Well, sit still, stop your fidgeting.

I'll tell you, my son.