On Sunday, chastened, perhaps, by the sense of time passing,
I started a read-aloud for the younger boys,
About a pig who yearns for adventure.
But the reader knows she’s not along
On the polar expedition for her athletic ability
But for her porcine flavor.
I read for hours, and the boys listened,
And begged me to keep going.
So on Monday we skipped school,
And as the rain fell hour after hour,
We read of icebergs and danger,
Of unwelcome realization and necessary resilience.
How many more such opportunities will I have?
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