Pocket book 5

Morning on Walnut Street

After a quiet night, as every morning goes,
A little bustle fills the house, from rooftop to the toes,
On Walnut Street, in the cottage neat.

Old Grandpa White, with pipe in hand, mumbles with a stare,
He’s searching for that same pipe, he swears it isn’t there!
But Granny, being Granny, makes the coffee, white and sweet,
And serves it in a painted mug, at seven, as a treat.

At seven-thirty, Kitt the tiger, small and sly,
Pitter-patter on the rug, with a hunter’s eye.
In his clever feline mind, an expert at the chase,
Granny’s red and dotted slippers are a challenge he must face!

The black ones, Pip and Nod, wake up at eight, no sooner,
And start a wrestling match—each one a little schooner.
They’re fighting for a simple cork, tied with a bit of twine,
Right by the pantry door, where they always align.

At nine sharp, snowy Simina, brighter, smarter as we know,
Knits a scarf of silver wool, with all a focus in her eyes.
"Two by two," she counts them all, with a rhythmic flow,
But soon the yarn begins to spin, to her own surprise!
Wow, my scarf! It’s by now lost, in a wooly, tangled knot,
I’ll find it yet, at any cost, no matter what I thought!

By ten, the mother, Sheba, finds each furry ball,
Scolds them, gives them milk, and puts them to bed for all.
And as the noon is drawing near, it won’t be very long,
Until the kittens meditate on where the time has gone.