The Crybaby
©2015 Susan Noyes Anderson
Oh how loudly, oh how clearly
we can hear you blow your top.
Baby boy, we love you dearly,
but this screaming has to stop!
Oh how loudly, oh how clearly
we can hear you blow your top.
Baby boy, we love you dearly,
but this screaming has to stop!
Donald J. Trump,
too often a chump.
Both his hair and his skin
are a trifle too thin.
Today I am open
to new ways
better treatment
wiser thoughts
nuanced interpretations
broader understanding
measured reactions.
Plant me beside a mountain spring.
Don’t let the stinging nettles sting.
Lift fallen birds into their trees.
Preserve the ailing honey bees.
Of late, I have been much away from home,
not of my own design but others’ need.
The mind finds compensation as I roam:
appreciation for the life I lead.
Perhaps I’ve slipped the bonds of earth too soon,
or maybe I have simply loosed my grip
and orbited, a rather ghastly trip
that leaves me somewhere underneath the moon.
Are we not all beggars
before our risen Lord?
In death, all things are lost to us,
save those He hath restored.
When life rears up and strikes me down,
when all the world turns bleak,
I look to God for hope and find
the comfort that I seek.