The Games Children PlayA Poem by Chris ShawA bathroom sink overflow becomes a postbox.
How great to hear the gurgling sound
of running water, flowing free. No longer pooling in the sink, the fixer fixed it just for me. My man who mends all things which break, (well almost all), has helped the flow. For weeks the basin wouldn't drain, now crystal swirls to depths below. Into the dark bend where he found, a medley for a child's keen eye. Where years before, a younger Beth had played at postman and I Spy. A treasure trove was found down there, a Spanish coin, a Barbie's comb, a pile of toothpicks, pink and white had found a most unlikely home. Those little things, a source of joy, though Beth when asked was acting coy.
© 2018 Chris ShawFeatured Review
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15 Reviews Added on July 14, 2018 Last Updated on July 14, 2018 AuthorChris ShawBerkshire, United KingdomAboutAlbert, my paternal grandfather introduced me to Tennyson when I was nine. I have loved poetry ever since but did not attempt writing a single piece until I was 40. It's never too late to try somethin.. more..Writing
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