Thanksgiving
My feet are cold On a messy wooden floor With a section not so thoroughly clean After my daughter's last up-chuck. She is sleeping lightly in my arms now But she is content as long as she can stay here. My hair is hanging limp and damp on my back Clean and fresh. The dryer dinged not too long ago. I check the time, 1:41. My family's Thanksgiving feast is now eaten. Their little feet are running after friends, My husband, chatting with friends. My belly is full of: Leftover soup And breakfast pizza. My heart is full of: all the joy that the good Lord gives. I am thoroughly blessed even though My feet are cold.