The Picnic

Warm weather comes on the cusp of winter High green grasses borrow soil for the season To fill in every inch of lands pervasiveness Stretched fields of new born flowers Hide by tall trees for a while blossoming Sun dances in the sky of Spring A picnic is the perfect thing to bring a smile I pack up sandwiches and….. Must not forget the misses We bring our own ants in a cardboard box On the chance there aren't enough out there A white thick blanket is a necessity Dark red wine to spill on it if things go right A mischievous kiss placed by chance After all we came to drink and play There is the possibility of rain We thank God for sandwiches and ants For over hanging trees for our umbrella mysteries High grasses will be our brake If we should fall In love or on the blanket by mistake