Her Little Gift to Me

Mother Nature meddles. She says, Here's
A storm. Make use of it.” I lead my
Newfound lady friend, Clarice, into
A picnic shelter, not before she's soaking
Wet. She shivers. Chivalrous, or something,
I reach out and pull her close. She smiles
And doesn't duck my kiss. I'll take her home
Once it's stopped raining, make her cocoa,
Do whatever else I can to keep things going,
But, before we leave the shelter, I'll look
Up into the clouds, and offer Mother thanks.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 58 times
Written on 2021-10-23 at 22:47

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