The young wide-eyed owlet was almost too cold to hoot
He sat in the crook of the oak, looking at his left boot
He needs a little cap, I will knit him the farmer’s wife said.
Okay agreed her husband, but please do not make it red.
If it is red he might be mistaken for a buzzard and hurt or worse.
His wife ran to get her car keys, her i.d. and her new purse.
Where are you going? I thought you had yarn already.
If I am going to create, I want his hat brand new, Freddy.
Her husband Fred knew enough to back off when she called him Freddy.
A sign that she means business since they first started going steady.
The next day she fitted the owlet way up high in the sycamore tree.
Good grief! Said her farmer husband, he looks comfier than me!
Categories:
comfier, bird,
Form: Rhyme
Now for warm oatmeal with honey and her sugarless tea
To this chrysoberyl dawn rescue from chuted linen bedlam,
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.
She sits on her hands and shuffles her ugg boots,
And watches me toast, I'm butter, I'm smoked ham.
Now for warm oatmeal with honey and her sugarless tea.
Pepper shakes, egg white eyes, her yawning toots,
Her champagne hair bubbles still of our liquory sham,
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.
The wonder to her sprite body and this morn in cahoots,
When I feels like I'm sunken, with lids like a sleepy clam.
Now for warm oatmeal and honey and sugarless tea.
Not flowers on feathers, hoodlums we are - munchy and moose,
Nothing much matters but her lippy kiss coat of strawberry jam
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.
This first light and cigarette and her shuffling caboose
Closer, comfier, her smile on my shoulder, to the day be damn'
Now for warm oatmeal with honey and her sugarless tea,
For here's a bedside tale to whispered promise and plea.
Categories:
comfier, morning, romantic,
Form: Villanelle