Monday, December 29, 2008


we spend the morning
tubing down the brooks
of living water,
wading in the shallows
trying to catch the tadpoles
before they grow up,
watching butterflies
dance from flower
to flower;

after a picnic lunch
and a (very short!) naptime,
you take out your box
of multi-colored chalk,
drawing a hopscotch game
on the path swept smooth
of any rocks that might
bruise our souls,
patching the holes
so we have a smooth
landing place;

and at night,
you pour us each
a cuppa hot chocolate,
gathering us around
your rocking chair,
telling us stories
about the Word who,
like a long-distance runner,
never tires

of us.

(c) 2008 Thom M. Shuman

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