When morning light across her eye
first cracks its gentle glow
she rises like the great undead
and whispers time to go

she finds her little apron
with the pockets all adorned
and ties it ’round her waist
so she can start the blessed morn

she stops quick by the wooden box
she keeps beside her bed
and softly pets the words inside 
while thoughts grow in her head

she pads soft to the dining room
and sits down with her phone
oh my oh yes the friends are here
they’re coming one by one

now this one’s new, igniting,
and that one smells like home
and this one’s sad and that one
makes her feel much less alone

she fills her little pockets up 
her hands no longer shake
as she puts down a poem, then
she will more poems take

take a poem, leave a poem
give thanks as you go
you know she really loves it here, 
the packrat of lexpomo.