Friday, March 30, 2007


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Boccaccini's in my hand
and covered all in oil...
New beginnings on the verge
and soft, defrosting soil.
Ins and outs and ups and downs
and everything in between...
It's very close, I can feel it now,
I can wipe my own slate clean.
New beginnings clad in white
though not the white of dreams...
Instead the white I wear these days
is covered in butter creams.
117 days are left
in a school with pots and pans...
and when those days expire, friends,
I'll be free to travel the lands.
What will I do, where will I go
and who will wonder why?
It's up to me to find my path,
my only limit? The sky.


OrioleGal9 said...

What a fun poem!

Mags said...

I was going for "fun" so, cool. ;)

the108 said...

I love it! For some reason, I got images of pots and pans dancing in my head much like Very whimsical!

Mags said...

Depending on what we cook, they sometimes DO dance.


Morgen said...

Beautiful! From covered in oil to my only limit - the sky, I was enrapt.
I love how this is YOU right this minute in your life!

Skittles said...

That's great!


This was great! Your mood, spirit, conception of YOU, everything flowed and filtered through that great attitude!!!

Travis said...

Outstanding! Well done.

" to travel the lands."


Callie Ann said...

Very well done. Bravo sweet Mags.