The little wooden horse you gave me, when I <br />came home from hospital. <br />I watch you through the window, in your smock, planting <br />a new garden. <br />It is hot I know, I never tire watching you do some thing <br />simple like drinking from a glass that was once dark blue now bleached from the sun, into some thing even more Unusual. <br />You hang the white smock over the small wooden fence, the <br />dear will come when you leave.<br /><br />Is It Poetry<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/it-is-just-a-small-thing/
