It is my favorite number, seven,
partly because it rhymes with heaven.
Sandwiched between six and eight,
seven still knows nothing of hate.
We are sardined in silver-can time,
in words of a poem structured to rhyme,
a number given as we wait in line.
How is it that seven breaks free?
It blooms perceiving individuality!
Seven yellow roses in a blue glass vase,
seven dancing uniquely in mingled space,
seven eggs, different, though samely nested,
at 77 Galileo died, his resolve popely tested,
on the seventh day our Creator rested.
Welcome to Four Lines! I have a goal I would like to write at least four lines of poetry or a haiku every day for the rest of my life. I'm excited about this challenge! Also, along with my daily poem, I will be reading at least four lines of another author's poetry. I'll try to include that here also. So I'm thinking - how difficult can it be to read and then write one poem a day? We will see! - Claudia
All poems on this blog, unless noted, are written by Claudia Callaghan.
© 2011, 2012, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016 Claudia Callaghan
Used only with permission. Please feel free to join Four Lines and request permission.