Poem for her 292

Dear Readers,


Hem of the Hymn

The skirt was in his hands
She looked at it and asked
Did the stain come out
No he said
Then laughed and got more
Beet juice and dabbed
It here and there
And she laughed
The markers were
Then they were
The stained skirt
Was their newest
Hymn to a hem
And they went back to dancing
In the big empty
House with
Woods all about it


Happy Birthday Babe,

Charles.