I'm mad at the Moon

She hasn't much sense

She comes at my bedtime

And sits on my fence

And then starts to act

Like a silly balloon -

And that's why

And that's why

I'm mad at the Moon!

She plays peek-a-boo

With some clouds in the sky

Or hide-and-go-seek

With a tree that's nearby

Then sends lots of Moonbeams

To dance in my room -

And that's why

And that's why

I'm mad at the Moon!

She loves to dress up

Like a silly old clown

Or look like an orange

All juicy and round

Sometimes she's a slice of

A lemon for tea

Or just a big grin

That is laughing at me!

I've seen her race stars

All across a black sky

I've seen birds make marks

On her cheek or her eye

But she keeps on smiling

That silly old loon

Oh, sometimes it's hard

To stay mad at the Moon!

If only she'd come

When I'm up in the day

Then I would gladly

Come outside and play

But that's when she chooses

To sleep in her room

And that's why

And that's why

I'm mad at the Moon

But somehow tonight

She has not come at all

And I must admit

That I miss her sweet call

If only she'll promise

To hurry back soon

I'll never more 

Ever

Be mad at the Moon!

*Sorry my (mean ol') computer won't allow me to add all my illustrations to 
this poem ...so you will just have to use your imagination. Sorry sorry sorry. :(

Lent is fast approaching:

A Catholic Girl

by me,

Mary

(A brief autobiography)

I was raised in a convent, with nuns as my teachers,

And lots of monsignors and priests as my preachers.

I am NOT amused to have my faith made sport of

For I'm a Good Catholic Girl ... (er … well … sort of),

My life is a penance to work out on Earth,

With no room for romps, for amusements or mirth,

I don't go to bars or wear black patent shoes

That reflect my undies, don't swear or drink booze.

I'm prim and I'm proper, in fact, I'm a saint

(And I'll kill anybuddy who sez that I ain't!)

I'll bet some carouse lots, from Mondays to Mondays,

And dally in sin, and I bet that on Sundays

They don't go to mass or get in holy ruts

And they think that us Catholic Girls are all nuts.

Easy for them to go dissing the Pope

And saying a Catholic Girl is a dope

Who gives up her cookies, (no, I mean for Lent),

While the likes of these others just never repent

But are free to sin freely and never confess it,

Or beg for a priest to forgive and God bless it -

They most likely have lots of men on a string,

And go out each night on a wild, carefree fling!

Life, for such people's a mad, joyous whirl,

Without all the guilt of a Catholic Girl -

But a Catholic Girl 

Knows if she's living WELL

And ENJOYING her life,

She will go straight to Hell!

It's snowing ... AGAIN!

'Sno Fun!

Is there anything nicier,
sugar 'n spicier,
anything more sweet or grandish,
than to see falling snow
setting all hearts aglow,
making everything so Fairylandish?

Each flake makes me quiver
with wonder,
I shiver
as softly I sing "Jingle Bells" -
ah, the beauty, the thrill,
as it climbs up my sill
with its luscious white whipped-creamy swells.

I give up counting flakes,
each succeeding one makes
a more mountainous mound out my door.
Why does it keep falling?
It's getting appalling!
I'll never get out any more!

Now the power's gone <bleat>,
no TV and no heat,
and my batteries are down to two!
Won't someone please stop it?!
I can't see atop it -
the snowplows can't even get through!

They'll find me next Spring
frozen to everything,
what the heck am I going to do?!
I have had it!
Enough!
Who invented this stuff?
You know,
I just hate snow,
don't you?