(A short Tri-Fall on parental solitude.)
They left for a new scene,
A week long;
Next morning we slept long abed.
The house remained serene,
Clean scents strong;
I had made too much food ahead.
I read a stack of books
‘En garden’,
Eating dark chocolate unshared.
Cool breeze revels; many rose looks;
A pardon
From duties which leave ‘singles’ scared.
Despite the rest I pined;
My children…
Their charms always overcome toil.
Their fingers reach for mine,
With and when
Tiny fingers--in love--embroil.
