Wednesday, September 30, 2009


She offered me her hacky saw,
to lay some eggs
and a dozen roses.

I offered to milk the cow,
to shear the sheep.

So we did.
I miss those times.


She used to visit me nightly,
look up at me with big blue eyes
that took up half of her face,
begging to crawl in beside me,
sometimes hiding,
waiting for me.
I knew words
that would make her leave,
but they also made her cry.
I usually let her stay.

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