Observing the way these
littlies make their Easter-
Day activities infectiously
gay anecdotes of affection
certainly has me re-tamed;
I’d tried t’ be gaily humorous
with Freddy - while tickling
Clementine’s rib cage as they
both ate humungous, big-as-their-
heads, chocolate Easter eggs -
but, hey wait, we’re busy, was
their unneeded-to-be-stated
reply - we’ll get back t’ you
as soon as we’ve discovered
where all the other goodies
are likely stashed - y’ see
we know about Gran’s manic
predisposition to hide ‘em
wackily in full view amongst
th’ flower beds - so back up;
and off they dashed: from then
th’ whole scene was a replay
of fabulous enthusiasm we’re
enwrapped within - as if this
is what being ourselves, and
down-to-Earth, really means…
©2 April 2018, I. D. Carswell
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