weekend home

my mother composed this little verse describing the events of our first night at grammy's house:

one look at this face

and it's tough to imagine

he's capable of capture

his small hand a grabbin'

poor little Squidgy

our once faithful fish

in this innocent grasp

his poor life got squished

beware of a three year old

chasing loose and free

good thing he's a cutie

or i'd tie him to a tree

now his mama cried tears

for the fish and the boy

he was put to bed soundly

the catch brought no joy

i love them both dearly

this mama and son

we bought a new Squidgy

too bad he can't run