Monday, September 11, 2006

Three by Emily


I play a finely fashioned game,
From fanciful designer;
Not all the meeples, mats, or pawns
Could make a game that's finer!

A player of the water I,
And partner to the sun,
With no opponent challenging
My happy position.

When gives the robber stolen lumber
Back, and also grain,
When sevens roll thrice more than threes,
I shall but play again!

Till hunters stalk for skittish deer,
And gatherers reap gold,
I'll wander over shell and slate
Until I have grown old!


Because I could not wait for him,
I went to make some tea;
The game was just between ourselves
And all eternity.

He slowly thought, he knew no haste,
So I did put away
The dishes, and my kids to bed
For he had thought all day.

At ten o'clock, I read the news:
It said it rained in Greece.
Eleven o'clock then passed, then twelve,
So I read War and Peace.

The next day, he was thinking still;
Of what, I cannot tell,
I swept the floors and washed them, too
And dusted him, as well.

He suddenly reached out his hand
And almost moved a pawn;
But then he scratched his beard, and stilled,
And stayed that way 'til dawn.

When finally he moved, I nearly
Had a heart attack;
For as I reached, he said to me,
"Can I please take that back?"


I'm losing! How about you?
Are you losing, too?
Then there's a pair of us--again!
We always lose, we do.

How dreary to be winning!
How public; it's much sweeter
To say you're losing voluably,
And gang up on the leader!