The Search

The search began as it often does,

with a whisper, a word, a little buzz

My dear do you see my old phone,

and the search begins

high and low, through couch and chair

is it in the bathroom or somewhere up there?

The living room, the game room, the bedroom Nay

on refrigerator top, or under sink it feels the search will last the day

finally defeated I ask my Queen

where was it last seen?

On the bed in which I lay

can you find it soon I want to play

At foot, under blanket, on the side

I do not see it, I cannot lie

my final wit takes me to the pillow under her head

and there it is and the battery isn't even dead

She looks at me with a sheepish smile which I return

The search is over and I have learned



Written for my love without whom I would be as lost as her phone