Poem for her 667

Dear Readers,


The salad

The meal wasn't a salad
It was Oatmeal
But the salad stood there
Looking out at the warm bowl
Just now empty
The spoon shared
The heat still drifting
The smiles the salad saw
They had Oatmeal instead
Hot at night
Warm on tummies
Slow meal this late
Easy to make
There was a smile
She made as she said

Happy Birthday Babe,

Charles.