I promise, she shyly whispered,
to only stomp in mud puddles
when the grumbles grab me.
To weave daisy chains
when the nervous-nellies strike.
To concentrate on blessings
like tulips, birch trees,
snow flakes, puppies,
and sweet juicy peaches.
And her guardian angel smiled.

It’s Quadrille Monday at dVerse today, the virtual pub for poets around the globe. As pubtender for the day, I’m asking folks to include the word “promise” in the body of their poem of exactly 44 words, sans title. They may use a form of the word “promise” but a synonym will not suffice. Stop by and see what folks are writing about – I promise you’ll enjoy! Image by ymyphoto from Pixabay