Poem for her 901

 Deck Chairs

They were folding

They were handmade

They had worked on the plans for weeks

Or was it months

Folding wooden chairs

The wood shop was out back

Near the art studio

Yet you couldn't find it unless you knew where it was

Hidden by a garden fence

Hiding behind some hazelnuts and berry vines

Over there

Looked like a moss covered stone wall

It was

Just not totally

The plans for that area were a lot older

In a blue notebook

Where a lot of pages were of all sorts of things

Her smile

His laughter

And a note

Happy Birthday Babe,

Charles.