poem for her 267

Dear Readers,



Laced hands, warm feet


My hands laced into hers
As we dance in the grass
Her the flower
And me the petals
The grass is warm and,
Clover filled
Our faces close
Then apart
Dancing in the clover
Grass smell fills the air
But so does clover blossoms
The dance is long
And slow filled
With her giggles
As her feet are bare
Something she'd
Not done almost ever
But for the times
I got her into
Our back yard
Dancing
Hands Laced
Feet warm
Or dew chilled


Happy Birthday Babe,

Charles.