Popsicle Sticks

We Write poems

There were five of us, and loved Popsicle's.

Every Friday we would get a new box!

Making sure my brothers and sisters gave me their sticks.

I had a large collection,

some even stained -

from the brilliant colored sugary ice.

My collection would serve a purpose

I guarded them with my life!

Then, I would patiently wait.

Oh the first sound of thunder

I was running around, excited

Gathering my sticks and waiting by the door

Praying for a flood!

Finally, at the curb a rushing river

I would run to it and begin to lay a stick

In the stream that rapidly went by

I saw the sticks as little boats

Wondering how far they would go

And if someone would find them?

Soaking wet, one by one

The sticks would float

Leaving me praying for more sticks

And another rainy day

Wysteria