Poem for her 307

Dear Readers,


Orange Juice,


On the list she said just now
I added it, but we buy it frozen
Fresh Frozen Picked squeezed and frozen
The taste goes best with additives
But I like the little fruits of the trees
We might have been able to grow
Oranges had we been further south
But we have a variety of things
That grown where we are make juice
Filled into glasses and made to drink
Might only be once a year saved for
The Last day of summer, cusp of fall
The day of this poem is this year's date
The end of summer and the day next is Fall
But when you read this it might be just today
The day she smiles, and laughs at the thoughts
She remembers having thought of as the time drifts
The snow of the grass melts in her hand
The parking lot so far away that she smiles
As I take her hand in a kiss
The day she holds laughter near the edge
Of the soft breezes lingering in her hair
The eyes not faded shielded from glare
The meal fresh on her lips as I kiss them
The coffee hot and that to tasted
I mention 194 and then read again to her
Soft sighs of delight and soft dances
Bare foot over the dew filled grasses
Orange blossoms scattered in sprays on table
The scent of her filling my mind
The taste of purple on my touch

Happy Birthday Babe,

Charles.