love in the Forenoon

Love in the forenoon It was a struggle, a poem insisted on giving birth I refused and insisted on abortion, as I no longer write poetry, when she stood in the doorway of my study, asked what I thought of her hair she had had colored the hair dark, but not shiny black I said the nice things one says concerning hair She was going into the kitchen to make toasts I joined her, and at 80, she is still wonderful age has not made her grumpy or lose pride in her looks never mind the stillborn poem I have written enough second-hand stuff to last a lifetime now, the time is for a simple life, smiles, and tea.