Saturday, November 28, 2020

Poem for her 888

 Blonde hair in the wind

Tuesday or was it Saturday
She was at the gate to the garden
The fence was finished
We'd been trying to keep animals out
This fence seemed better
Two whole weeks
And lots of crops
None taken by deer
A few birds sat looking at her

I told them they needed to leave us some berries

They just looked at me

She spoke

They flew off

I think it was Saturday.


Happy Birthday Babe,

Charles.

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