between Monday and Friday,
glimmering through the fingerprint-streaked windows,
Over a pile of laundry that scrapes the ceiling fan,
There’s a tiny light.
after dinner is served,
And baths are drawn,
Books are read and kisses blown,
a tiny light dances outside the patio door.
work is left in the briefcase,
the Blackberry is turned off
And the dishes placed in the sink for another day.
Stay tuned, Invisible Friends! We have a new fun post mañana!
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