“I broke a dish at Grandma’s,”
He hastened home to say.
His tone revealed the mishap
Had almost wrecked the day.
We asked him how it happened.
His words were sadly lipped,
“Well, I was wiping dishes,
And, golly, that one slipped!”
But then, as though reaction
To solace was delayed,
He started in relating
A virtual parade
Of dishes Grandma told him
That she had cracked or chipped —-
A list to ease a conscience
That hurt because one slipped.
The while he talked we noted
His fingers clutched a dime.
He said for helping Grandma
She’d paid him for his time.
Oh, son, don’t judge life’s business
By this so gainful trip!
In truth it’s only grandmas
Who pay for things that slip.
Merry Christmas