Four Wishes.

Tonight,
As I gaze out from my verandah,
Four shooting stars,
In a clear night sky.
Four wishes:
To find contentment.
To be more patient.
For good health,
And the fulfilment of these wishes
For every being.

I am hoping that they aren't  passing satellites.

Billie-Grace Car Washing Service.

Her big blue eyes, that are mine,
Look at me through the windscreen.
On the bonnet, her five year old hands are rubbing at the glass.
She has a damp nappy, that was once hers.
I feign sleep so I can observe her without further engagement.
She is busy,
Making small smearing circles.
Her hard work is not effective,
Yet she persists.
Her tongue pushes about her mouth in the same circles.
She is concentrating hard.
As she returns the washcloth to the bucket.
I watch her lips form the shape of a song.
She is singing while she works.

Small Blessings

I recline in my sick bed and,
Tap, tap these keys.
This poem writes itself on my laptop screen.
In the kitchen, my husband,
Is scrubbing a pot.
I hear the sound of scourer on metal.
He has already fed us,
Organised the children and retired them to their beds.
The fire has been lit,
By him.
The house, like my heart is warming.
This rest is easy,
I don't feel his efforts,
As any weight of obligation.
He takes such care of me.
These are the small blessings,
Enjoyed by someone who is loved.