62 mins past the barley hour

Dear Readers,

It was 62 minutes past the barley hour, and the bar was about to be closed, but the bartender looked over at Turnip and sighed.

Seems just last week someone was ready to Scrub him, then just the other day he
was in a Pickle, not a Jam, but a Pickle. And here he sat in the bar moving not even a root hair or a leaf, so the sad tale was. Little Miss Daisy was on a bus, and the snow storm had pushed further south than anyone had thought. Daisy was safe, but Turnip was still depressed, and it is a sorry sight to see a depressed Turnip, even one you know will cheer up as soon as the snow plows clear the roads.

But it was still 62 mins. past the barley hour, well now that the bartender looked at the moon dial it was 65 mins. past. So he lumbered up and got a Hot mint tea for Turnip and took him the big mug and gave him a tap on the purple top, left side, the one with fewer tears.

Sighs, it was mint tea her favorite, Little Miss Daisy sipped at the hot tea, and thanked Turnip, she was not quite sure how he got here with it, but she was very happy to have it. They both sat on the bus far south of the snow line, holding leaf to petals and sharing a hot mug of mint tea.

In a bar far north, the bartender smiled, He always knew the Awesome power of a Poem, but whoa, in a flash Turnip was gone. The Bard smiled, and tipped his hat brim and walked out into the night 67 minutes past the barley hour.


To my lady love, also Happy Birthday.

Charles.