Tricia and I haven't been prolific this week, have we? To be fair, there was a holiday. There's also been crime and stuff.

Today's entry comes from Gertrude Hinds. My poetry book lists her as English, even though she was born in Pennsylvania and raised in California before turning expatriate.

The Donkey
I saw a donkey
One day old,
His head was too big
For his neck to hold;

His legs were shaky
And long and loose,
They rocked and staggered
And weren't much use

He tried to gambol
And frisk a bit
But he wasn't sure
Of the trick of it.

His queer little coat
was soft and grey
And curled at his neck
in a lovely way.

His face was wistful
and left no doubt.
That he felt life needed
some thinking out.

So he blundered round
in a venturous quest
And then lay flat
on the ground to rest.

He looked so little
and weak and slim
I prayed the world
might be good to him.

I now close with a haiku for tonight.

Stupid Dwight Howard
What is Ben Wallace doing?
Foul his smug smirk off

-Jason Lea, JLea@News-Herald.com