Light Summer Days

A Feckless Frolic

A lass with no care for the clock,
Went dancing in a mismatched sock,
With a grin she’d unpack it—
Her laden picnic basket—
And nap on a sun-sprinkled rock.

She’d shirk every duty, task and chore,
Let dishes stack up on the floor.
But with bread and brie,
Feast haply neath a shady tree.
Then nap like a queen on the shore.

The ants made a march for her crumbs of pie,
As a pbj sat on her bronzen thigh,
But she just hummed tunes
To the gossiping loons,
And waved every worry goodbye.

Though feckless and rarely found on task,
She’d offer some wine from her own flask.
With laughter and jam
She’d not give a damn—
And joy brightened her face like a mask.