Roses are red

My name is not Dave

This makes no sense

Microwave— nephew Henry

 

I see…

 

I see green

Trees above the gray rocks

I hear birds chirp and boats zooming

I feel the windy breeze and the rough picnic table

I smell the the warm pizza and freshly mowed grass

I taste the bubble gum the cheesy pizza

— niece Willa

vacation poetry with Henry (10) and Willa (8)