Tata in December

“One little piggy went to the beach.

The next little piggy danced in the rain.

The middle piggy played guitar.

The next best piggy cooked a roast.

The eldest piggy jumped upon his sail boat.

Piggy who went to the beach did starfish’s in the sand.

Piggy who danced in the rain felt free.

Middle piggy started to sing.

Next piggy longed to share his roast.

Eldest piggy got lost at sea without his map….”

As I hesitate on my next sentence, holding your dirty toes in my hands, I look up to the clouds for inspiration and you giggle at me as tears form in the corner of your eyes.

I rest my head upon your body, with your dirty feet still in my hands and slowly drift away into a kip.

You watch me with finite curiosity - every breath, every eye flicker, every movement.

No rush schnecke, we know where home is.