Watch me dance

Like Robert Frost (yesterday’s poem) I also saw a small bird near the wood pile.

Photo: Bird on gate in pine forest near Black Springs

Musing:
My Papa’s Walz by Theodore Roethke
“The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.

We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's countenance
Could not unfrown itself.

The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.

You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.”