The sewing machine sits idle.
There's nothin' crafty for the blog.
I'm sniffling and coughing and feverish.
I'm sick as a dog.
I'm finding it quite puzzling;
it's a baffling mystery
how my fuzzy-thinking brain
bursts forth with poetry.
The relations have departed;
their Versa stretching its seams.
We're savoring our peaceful surroundings
and running the washing machine.
I'll be back to regular blog content
as soon as my brain fog clears
Is it true? Can it possibly be?
This silliness is approaching seven years.
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