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Weekly Contest #329
In a weathered house on a quiet street,Where roses climb and floorboards creak,The kettle sings, the clock hands glide,And time drifts gently, side by side. Jack and Bea have made it home,Where their story took root and children roamed.Now what remains, through days grown long,Is love that lasts, true and strong. Jack is stubborn, slow, set in his ways,Grumpy and regimented in his days.He reads of war, great battles won,Then watches the news till day is done. Bea is sweetness, quick, sharp, and bright,With kindness fierce and wit just right....
“Time to get up!” the little boy cheered,Early on a Sunday.“Let’s go, Daddy—Let’s go outside and play!” He hopped upon his parents’ bedWith carefree leaps and bounds.Then bounced upon his daddy’s belly,Letting out “boing, boing” sounds. “Five more minutes,” said the father,As under the blankets he huddled.“But before we start our day, my boy—Come here. We must cuddle!” After their hugs,They went out back,Picked up their trusty mittsAnd a brand-new baseball pack. “Alright,” said the father,“Here comes pitch number one—My famous fastball.Bet...
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