Drip Drop, Drip Drop

Plop. Plop. Plop.

I wish the rain would go away so that I can go outside and do something fun. I am very tired from a combination of walking, too much coffee yesterday, and homesickness. 2 weeks and six days to go friends, and I am enjoying it very much, but I would like to be curled up on the couch right now with my pupper and High Society or Gentlemen Prefer Blonds or some Doris Day movie. Or maybe some Anthony Bordaine. I miss him.

Instead I will share with you as much as I can remember right now of my very first ever children's poem. I wrote it when I was 18 in my head on a flight to Oregon (see the travel link?), thinking of my little cousins. I'm sure I cannot tell you all of it right now, but you will get the gist, and I have it written down somewhere.

Melinda and the Pointy Shoes

On rainy days, Melinda plays,
inside her mother's closet.
She hides and seeks, and sneaks and peaks,
inside of all the pockets.

And then one day she found the shoes,
the purple, pointy, lace-up shoes.

Where were they from? What were they for?
Her mother never wore them.
As soon as she took them out of the box,
Melinda began to adore them.

She put them on,
and wobbled out,
and then began to laugh and shout!

Were they climbing shoes?
Or dancing shoes?
Or shoes for stirring witch's brews?

This is where I cannot remember, there are a couple more verses. But it ends:

And there they sit,
all tucked away,
safely 'til another day.

I know it is not much, and I will remember the rest I am sure, but this is the first time I have shared that poem with anyone. So there we are.