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  • Planner poetry
  • The youngest child

Planner poetry

I’m up to here with things to do
  And buried under data
The notes I keep all filed away,
  The tasks—I’ll do them later.

>

+1 to put things off a day,
  Tomorrow: work ’til all is done,
Today I can relax—but then
  Tomorrow’ll never come.

>

My webpage looks impressive, sure,
  But check a few days later.
The same tasks appear. I know,
  I’m such a procrastinator.

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The youngest child

I hear them fighting through the floor
I hear the cries and shouts and more
I sit here silent, meek and mild
Quiet watcher, youngest child

I’ve even seen them come to blows
Why they do this, no one knows
Who cares whoever comes out on top
I want them to stop. I want them to stop.

When tomorrow comes no one remembers
The fiery blaze now dulling embers
But I, the silent, meek and mild,
I remember. – The youngest child.

The eldest one is made of ice,
The middle one of fire.
And I, the youngest, realize
That I embody water.

The eldest one is made of ice,
The middle one of flame.
And I, the youngest, realize
That I will never be the same.

Original:

The eldest one is made of ice,
The middle one of fire.
And I, the youngest, realize
That I am made of water.

The eldest one is made of ice,
The middle one of flame.
And I, the youngest, realize
That I will never be the same.