When things don’t go our way
When we threaten to go home
Pick our marbles up from play
Sulking in silence all alone

What a wonderful policeman you are
Putting up with all our crimes
Flinging them to a distant star
Then embracing us with rhymes

Why do you fight to keep the peace
While saving each and every poem
Making pages for them without cease
Working your fingers to the bone

It must not be for the money
’Cause you know we’re poor as dirt
Maybe it’s ’cause we’re so funny
Making you laugh until you hurt..?

Naah! That can’t be the answer neither
Because funny jokes are a dime a dozen
And it can’t be for want of fame either
For that always goes to some distant cousin

It must be something else, dear brother…
Something which has always been enough
To keep family members clinging to each other
Aha! That’s it, by Golly! It must be Love!

©Nancy L. Meek
November 29, 2001