Bleak Is the Stable

Bleak is the stable and frosty the hay;
The old shepherd’s moaning, “Please go away!
Give me some quiet, for that would be bliss;
Messes annoy me—just look at all this!
Some other farmhand should milk the brown cow,
While I feed the lambs, the calves, and the sow.
Yes, I know my part, I know it right well:
Work is my worship, despite the rank smell.”

 
  

Poem © 2019 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
 
More Sunday’s Whirligig #244
 
More Pantry of Poetry and Prose #8 at Poets United

 

You Were Meant to Fly

You open the kitchen door, Mother,
and slip into the woods
after supper.
There is no trail to follow,
but you do not worry;
swarms of stars
wait to greet you
and show you the way.
 
You leave your valuables behind;
masked strangers can have them,
and you will not moan over your losses.
You know you’ll get what you need for
your journey at just the right time.
 
You were meant to fly—
the stars will deal gently with you.

 

Poem © 2018 by Magical Mystical Teacher
 
  
More Sunday’s Whirligig #161
   
More Poetry Pantry #403 at Poets United