Monday's Poem: Papa Sled

Papa Sled

Papa Sled slides

over kitchen floor snow;

we ride on his back,

and we don't slide slow.

Papa Sled swooshes

up white frozen hills

and swings to the right.

Oops!  Sister took a spill.

Papa sled swishes

down steep, slippery hills

and leans to the left.

Oops!  Brother took a spill.

Papa sled rushes

up and down, left and right;

I'm still on the sled.

I'm hanging on tight.

Snowmama steps

over Papa Sled's head

with a steaming hot loaf

of homemade bread.

Snowmama sings,

"There's hot, creamy soup,"

and we all take our places

at the table with a "Whoop!"

                                   Anne Knowles