Poem for her 658

Dear Readers,


Flights of fancy


The night driver
Thought that nights drove well
The thought was
Cool air
Long night
The spring shot through with stars
The call
Babe on phone
Then she said should I go
I was out of the house
She thought some waking dream
Was so tired
Was worried still
Gone from the nest the bird was
But night bird wanted to touch
Back all night in sleep
Traveled over hill and down the other side
Just a hop out of the ridge line
Just a travel
Then the edge of sleep
Right to her door
Hello babe
I am home with you
Hugs the pillow tightly
Soft fur lightly
Sock drawer tender
Butterflies sing

Happy Birthday Babe,

Charles.