Poem for her 255

Dear Readers,


Fingers touching


As we walk the halls of a museum
She has a sketch book handy
We make notes about the things we see
Things we'd like to have in the yard
Things that would look good in art
The walks in the parks of statues long
The hands held as we want to skip
Fingers touching over a hot cup of mint tea
Fingers twined as we dance in dew
The morning fresh out the back yard
Her hands and mine fit so well together
We sit at the bench in a gallery
Fingers touching walking up stairs
We see the sights and hear the sounds
Of downtown life by a river or two
We share that hot mint tea and smile
We let the night breezes flow
Fingers touching as we grow younger


Happy Birthday Babe,

Charles.