Poem for her 726

Dear Readers,


5854

The number of seconds
Sunshine and I talked
On the porch today
There in the bright light
The spring air smell
The snow sliding off a tree
The winter still here
The days at cusp
Lingering shorter
Tending toward the shortest
Days away and zip
Back up the light hour curve
The dip of the do da be bop
She sat there hands busy
Doing things with notes
And card games and stuff
And sitting still listening
The skies filled with flight
The dew drops of mint tea cool
There she sat
As I pondered her very being
Old we are these days
3 or 4 maybe a few days older
Just as new as can be
Fresh out of the box
Opened one afternoon
At a grand exchange
I said Hi
She already knew me
She'd spied me from afar
There the sunshine she was
In butterfly form

Happy Birthday Babe,

Charles.