AT FIVE, AMIDST THE SLEEPING ROSES (A POEM)
At five, amidst the sleeping roses,
Like so many grandchildren
Enjoying their nightly repose
After play and dance of the day,
Enduring the heat of the fierce Sun
And the blast of the Texan winds,
I wait for them to wake up to greet me
Like my own granddaughter
Who will issue forth from her room
Like a hurricane for the school
In her hurry for breakfast
And a story from her grandma
About Indian monkeys that sat
On our car roof to travel a hundred miles
On rough dusty roads holding bananas
I offered them for the privilege
Of appearing in delightful morning tales
With deft daily modifications
To down breakfast cereal at seven!
