My Springtime Poem

We scamper about the house
our chests beating madly
with excitement and anxiety.
Panting,
while silencing our playmates,
we lower ourselves into our planned positions;
perhaps behind a couch stashing our feet under a frieze,
or
perhaps inside a down cupboard
prohibiting it to close.
Smothering ourselves into walls,
dust puddles,
or our curled knees,
someone would sneeze,
cough,
or some other din
surrendering our positions.
So, we would begin again,
just as we had before.