Saturday April 16th, 2016

The exercise:

Write a four line poem about: the orchestra.

Appointment this morning went well. Miles is already back to within four ounces of his birth weight, which is great news. At this rate he should be back to his starting point by Tuesday or Wednesday.

Got back from Penticton in time to take Max to the park before dinner, which he enjoyed. I'm trying to make the effort to spend some extra time with him, though that's been especially hard with working the first two mornings after we got back.

Very much looking forward to tomorrow, with no appointments and no work and no time commitments on the calendar.

Mine:

Hell's Orchestra

The woodwinds are burning,
The strings are all hanging;
But the percussionists
Will never stop clanging...

2 Comments:

Greg said...

I'm sure Max appreciates the attention you give him :) Though at that age jealously does happen, so I think you're being sensible and cautious :)
I like your orchestra, and the image it conjures up. I wonder what the percussionists are clanging though... I suspect it's unpleasant!

The orchestra
The conductor of the Orchestra of Bones
Taxidermies children in his off-time
And because of that, no-one ever asks
Where he got his ivory for wind-chimes.

Marc said...

Greg - I hope so. He seems to need a lot of extra attention lately, though less so the last few days. Maybe things are changing... yet again.

I quite like the idea of this Orchestra of Bones you've brought to my attention. I suspect there are tales to be told here :)