short

skirts are too long
they enclose my heeled boots
their hems collect snow
and they sneak underfoot

shelves are too high
where liquor is kept
"sure I'll make you your drink,
when I find my stool-step"

lines are too long
when you cannot look past
this man's back in your face,
so broad and so vast

but the bright side of hope
shines forth faithfully:
He said, "let the little ones
come unto Me"