Ring, ring
the doorbell rings.
I rush to open the door.
Ring, ring
who can it be
standing at my door?
It might be the sitter
'cause Mom and Dad
are going out.
I hope she is a fun one
and not too overly stout.
I hope she will play with me
and doesn't suffer gout.
And as I stand here waiting
she's pushing on the bell.
Perhaps she'll just go away
and I won't have to tell.
I like doors. Do you? How many doors are there in your house? Are all the doors the same or different?
Do you have a favorite sitter? What do you do when the sitter comes? Can you write a poem about a sitter, or babysitting? Have a happy Saturday.
Real fun would be having my doorbell ring and you to be on my front porch!
ReplyDeleteCome on the porch!
You won't scorch.
It's cool in the shade.
We'll have lemonade.
We're grateful for friendship towers.
We'll talk for hours and hours.
Celebrate you and your mastery of poetry.
Never Give Up
Joan Y. Edwards