Get Ready!

Get ready to hear:
"I haven't done such and such
All year."

Get ready to cringe,
Because our neighbors will
Most likely binge.

Get ready, for you know,
This time of year only comes around
Every 365 days or so.

Get ready, it's not so bad,
One thing ends, another begins,
It's what's to be had.

Get ready (again) to hear,
That I'm glad I get to spend with you
Another wonderful year.

 

Midway

The center of things, I find, are best.
Like when you reach the center of something good:
You've gotten halfway there pleasantly,
And the rest, pleasantly, you should.

And when you're up against something bad,
And you reach that center mark,
You know you've only got halfway to go,
Before it's a walk in the park.

And if things are mediocre,
Or any other shade of medi-orange/yellow,
You've only got halfway more
Before you, in boredom, bellow.

So, halfway there, good bad or otherwise,
Can be a boon in itself,
But getting halfway there with you
Is where I find true wealth.

 

Three Day Bleakend

There are times I'm glad I have
A break from work,
But then when I come back,
What's this: more stuff!

And then, with all the work piled up,
I'm backlogged.
I could definitely, maybe,
Use another vacation.

A post-vacation vacation,
What I need.
But then, when I got back,
What then?

Another vacation, on top of that.
A post-vacation-vacation vacation.
Or a post-post-vacation vacation.
At least I'd get to spend it with you...

Last Break

Normally, a case of Mondays
Will ruin the complete set of Fundays.
But Monday, when you have a break,
Is a precious joy you must CERTAINLY take.

A rest, respite, a break, such peace,
To do what I want, when I want, how I please,
Provided it's okay with you-know-who,
The joy of my life, my sweetie-weetie-boo.

And together, we'll venture out into the world
And with each step, another mystery unfurled,
Like, if you spend too much time inside,
You'll soon feel over burdened outdoors, and wish to hide.

But hide or hair, or anything else,
I'll stay with her until the world's ice melts,
And then some, because, you know,
I kinda like her, and I love her so.

Breakcrate Day

Finally! A day alone!
A day that I may call "my own."
Well, not alone as in "by myself."
But alone. No relatives or elves on the shelf.

We have this time, here, now,
To relax, to rest, to eat roasted cow,
To wallow and wade through tinsel and foil,
As if it were Merriment's fertile soil.

And then we sort, and order, and sort,
The piles of things not growing short,
And to each pigeon gets a pigeon hole,
And to each corpus goes a spirit or a soul.

Last and not least, let us always remember
That such joy and relaxation happens each December,
And what really counts, after all, in the end,
Is the people (or person) with whom this time you spend.

Breaksing Day

And with that, the steam is gone
The air let out, the lining lon.
The goose is nothing more now but gristle
And grease and down, and maybe a thistle.

But, hey the stores are open now,
And we can go out and shop around,
Or return those things we didn't like,
Assuming we don't mind the hike.

But candles gone, one thing remains,
And it is not the bowl of Breakmas grains.
It is instead the family, kin,
Without whom I could not begin.

Family is there to help you out,
And give you light when all is doubt.
There is one such member I owe my life,
And that is her: my splendid wife.

Breakmas

Ring the bells,
If you're feeling s'wells.
Jingle chimes,
And wrangle mimes!

It's the time of year
When friends and family are near,
And when grinches and scrooges
Find that if they don't alter their ways, they loses.

And yes! At last,
A feast! Repast!
And while everything's closed,
You don't have to go into work, which is good, I supposed.

So bang the clangor,
And clang in Bangor,
And let the winter snow.
It comes around once a year, but soon, it has to go!

Breakmas Eve

And as the old, cold
Yuletide draws ever so near,
I'm glad I have my friend,
My companion, my dear.

The warmth we share,
The ways we care,
Like a simple prayer,
A vigil, or a snare.

And I'm caught,
A prisoner of love,
A captive in a gaol,
Free as a dove.

I remember the reason,
The reason for the season:
To be with those you love,
And to be filled with pleasin'.

Break, Part 2

A second day I have
And it's better than the first.
It's the perfect time of day,
So good, it can't get worse.

And not because it's bad,
But because it's a joy
That I get to spend time with my girl,
And she spends time with her boy.

And while one day is gone,
Many days still remain,
And I wish for each and every one
To never have love refrain.

This time is great, it's priceless,
I love every moment,
Because your love is soothing, soft,
And for my heart, a foment.

Break, Part 1

I'm glad, I'm glad
I get to take
A lengthy, needed,
Wanted break.

And with this break,
I get to spend
Some time with a girl
I wish to never end.

Rest, recuperation,
Relaxation,
All these I need
For my Vacation.

And then, there's time
We spend together,
The kinds of time
That should last forever.

Work One More

One day, I have,
To work the soil,
To labor,
To toil.

And then, what's this?
A sevenight off?
A laugh! A cheer.
But not a scoff.

Time is precious,
And precious is time,
When spent with somebody
For whom I pine.

And my precious is spent
With time here with me.
It doesn't have to make sense.
I'm free! I'm free!

A Madness

There is a method
When there is a madness,
And it fills the heart
With mirth and gladness.

There a method is
When madness appears
That takes away sadness,
Sobs and fears.

A method there is
When madness is nigh:
Makes one feel good
Enough to fly.

Is there a method
For when madness is around,
So we can take our time
And lose what's not found?

Break Breaking

A break that is broke
Is still a break,
As it gives you time off
For you to take.

And if a break broke,
It hasn't broke the bank,
As vacation is a-plenty,
No sickness to thank.

And this time is best,
When it's best spent together,
Indoors, inside,
Away from the weather.

I enjoy my breaks,
For a break is to be taken
When we're both in danger
Of getting quite breaken.

Mouthurty

You know: it should be against the law
For things to come and hurt your jaw!
And any doctor who says otherwise is quacking,
Or just wants to keep you from yakking.

After all, it would be a bore,
If everybody's jaw suddenly got sore.
And, man, how far would you have to walk
Just to find someone who could talk?

I hope that your pain is overcome,
As though you do like to talk, I don't like you overdumb.
While other husbands would praising their gods with a flute,
I know I couldn't stand to have a wife, mute.

So, I really hope that whatever it is
Gets gone soon, so that I can kiss
My wife, and also so she can grace me with words,
And not just whistle and click like a flock of birds.

 

Lonely

When you don't get
Calls on the phone,
I bet it makes you
Feel alone.

And when you don't get
A little e-mail,
I bet I know
Just how you feel.

Terrible.

I'm sorry that
I get caught in a daze
And forget to send
Kind notes your ways.

I'm sorry that
I forgot again,
And made you feel
Anew, the pain.

Horrible.

Struck Luck

A flight, a feather,
An arrow, a quiver,
A bow, an archer,
A heart. Struck.

A coin, a penny,
A horseshoe, a cricket,
A rabbit's foot,
A clover. Luck.

Candy, chocolate,
Marshmallows, sugar,
Cocoa, caramel,
Molasses. Sweet.

Beating, bleeding,

Pulsing, needing,

Churning, burning,

Turning. Heart.

Feathers

I may like to wear some leather,
But I wouldn't wear some feather.
Nor would I pluck and pull
One for a quill.

I understand the need
To have the feathers preened,
And realize it's a must:
To keep them free of dust.

Without the feathers your wing
Will flap, and whine, and sing,
But you'll still be on the ground
Where danger can abound.

So, in order to keep you aflutter,
I'd sooner rather stutter
Than take a feather key
To aid in speech therapy.

Taking Flight

You will find yourself alight
When you leap and take that flight.
You will find that you can soar
(And it's mostly not a bore).

One thing you must try,
The next time you fly,
Is to shoot for the stars,
Or weave around those flashy cars.

Or, to take it easy, take it light,
You could take a simply flight.
You could fly around the block,
Or make a nest in the corner clock.

As long as you're back here soon,
Preferably by noon,
So that we can have our lunch!
Munch, munch, munch, munch, munch.

Birdsong

Tweet, tweet, the song,
It goes.
And like a mighty river,
It surrounds. It flows.

The feathers flutter downward
With each tiny gust
And the birdsong chases after
Like it always must.

The whistles cut through air
And they reach me near, or far,
Supplanting the squawks or squalor
Of the radio in my car.

And the birdsong is my favorite.
I hold it high above,
For the birdsong sings sweetly
Of my Little Bird's love.

Little Bird

Little Bird, fly
Fly so high
Into the sky.
Fly, fly, fly.

Little Bird, don't forget
To sometimes land.
And here's my hand
(Though I don't demand).

And Little Bird, eat!
Eat your birdy food,
Eat it. It is good.
It gives nourishment you need.

Little Bird, when you fly,
Don't be gone for long,
For at times I miss your song.
Please return before the gong.

One More Day

I've made up my mind!
I've decided to say:
I'll only love you
For one more day.

But don't get me wrong!
Don't take it that way,
'Cause what you might be thinking is:
"Only one day."

That's not the point,
So you need not try to sway
Me to declare that
I'll love you for more than one day.

For when tomorrow is today
And today is yesterday,
I'll love you again
For one more day.

Don't Fret!

When the little stresses of life
Pile up on you, and load you with strife,
Just remember, sweet little wife:
Don't fret.

When things seem like they're all falling down,
And you've received a bowl in exchange for your crown,
Before you let yourself start to frown:
Don't fret.

Life will have its downs and ups,
Sometimes we're thirsty, with empty cups,
And other times they're flowing over,
And, what's this? A four-leaf-clover?

The bad times come, but then they're gone,
And there's no need to keep hanging on,
'Cause we know that causes us to sour,
We shouldn't be giving such things such power.

So, when those little annoyances are strong,
Just remember this simple little song,
And pretty soon, you'll be singing along:
Don't fret!

Encore

"Encore," they say, when they mean "Go again."
Another round is always welcome
When the performance isn't lacking.
Especially when the performer melts your heart.

"Once more! Brava!" You'll hear me shout.
The words will echo in the halls,
And the echoes will ring the tiny bells,
Jangling the song in my heart.

And then, an encore. What fun is this!
I never imagined that such a day
Could be complimented by entertainment
Happening twice, so nice.

I'm glad that I have a private stage,
As I am very jealous.
But I know that you don't blame me.
You'd feel the same way. "Encore."

 

Missing Flavor

There is a flavoring
For which I'm cravoring.
I wonder what it is,
Or where to get it.

Is it something from the store?
Why no! What a bore.
But it's something familiar.
Have I met it?

Maybe I'll take a seat
At the restaurant down the street,
And wait for that
Simple little flavor.

Or maybe it's at home,
When I'm not there alone,
And the meal I'm craving
Is one to savor.

A Freedom in Itself

And with that, since you're free,
You can fly away, over the sea,
Or to the cloud wall, through it, in it,
Only to learn that the sky's the limit.

The shackle is gone
Little papillon,
And you're no longer anchored to life
(Though I must say, please stay and continue to be my wife).

And in those clouds,
Do what you're allowed
(Which is anything you like).
Don't feel like you have to succumb to early woes, be on strike!

In your freedom, reach for the stars,
They're out there to be grabbed, and held, so far.
And when you grab one, think of me,
Who worked so hard to help you be free.

Right in Place

It's neat when things fall right in place,
And all of a sudden, you're done cleaning your place.
The whole house is clean, now what do we do?
I guess you could spend time with me, and I with you.

There's something to be said about those times
When there's nothing to do, but we're still tryin'
To figure out what needs to be done
Before we allow ourselves to have fun.

So, we look to the chart, and see what's left on it,
Be it washing the cats or brushing the bonnet,
Or washing the dishes, or cleaning the clothes,
Or juggling hedgehogs, or contemplating a nose.

And when all is finished, there's a quiet lull,
And I look to you, and I feel a pull
To say something, anything, whatever's worth it,
But I'm overcome, at times, by your beauty. Perfect.

Winter Chills

The winter chills, they do grow cold,
Making one shake as if one were old.
The chills may freeze, and their winds waft,
And make us all feel like there's a bit of a draft.

That's why I'm glad that I have yous,
'Cause together we've got those BTUs,
And when the cold becomes epidermal,
We also have sheets, and clothes thermal.

But if my dear begins to shiver,
With Jack Frosts' arrows plentiful in his quiver,
I'll take away every last chill,
Even if I have to seal the window sill.

And once our home is nice and toasty,
And you're feeling warm and roasty,
We won't need to worry about a little snow,
Or if it gets to be something below.

Freedom!

Done! What fun!
No longer do you need to run.
Nor do you need to feel the pressure,
As now you're done. It's lesser and lesser.

You can take a break,
Catch up on things for things' sake.
You can drink tea with a little pixie,
Or follow a ring with a hobbit tricksy.

You could even, you know, make some art,
And without worrying about a grade. A la carte!
And draw, and scribble, and doodle,
Or paint, or make a topiary poodle.

You're free! You're free! Don't scoff.
The chains have fallen right off,
And you've earned this time, this rest.
I certainly hope that it is the best.

Last Lap

It's the last lap, and there's the end.
You're almost there, it's not pretend.
The tape is ready now, to be broken,
A symbol of accomplishment. A token.

And now, you have a lengthy break
That's completely yours, dare you take.
Some rest, some relaxation, some time to heal,
And to get things in order, and determine how you feel.

But, wow! Can you believe it? You're done!
I hope you're ready for a little fun.
I hope you've got yourself ready to have
Some time off to enjoy and laugh.

I'm proud of you. I really am!
I'm so glad you made it here again.
I certainly hope, without any fetter,
That your next round of classes will be much better.

Eagle Wings

You're running down the track now,
Your chariot is on fire,
And you can see the finish tape,
And your muscle's are on fire.

How many miles left to go?
How many yards?
How many have you traveled
On this trip, ever so hard?

Just two more days to go,
And your marathon will be best,
For you'll get at least a few days
To catch up on your rest.

But right now, on winged heels,
You sprint along the ground,
And I'm here beside you,
Ready to catch, if you fall down.

Secret Museum

There is a secret museum
Whose location is unknown
To many who may try to find it.
They are not alone.

Journey to find it,
And if you don't have a guide,
You'll probably not notice it,
As it tends to hide.

I'd like to change the museum,
Tear down the pickets,
Open up the doors,
And start selling tickets.

But this museum is hidden
In a secluded part
(Though it displays your art).
It's stuck there, in my heart.

Almost There!

Just persevere, just a little while,
And then you’ll once again get to smile.
Don’t let yourself get so far down
That you’re incapable of expression, other than a frown.

Be reminded: all is not lost!
You’re almost at the end, at the level’s boss.
And then, you’ll get a break, and maybe a coast;
Some time of making the best, of which you will do most.

And let’s not forget the joys up ahead,
The pasture through which the briar patch led.
The cool, relaxing stream by which you can recline,
Or a cozy, comfortable home called “Yours and Mine.”

I know that you’re down, and that you’re distressed,
And I want to ensure you don’t get distressed,
So I’ll do what I can to bring you the simple joy,
After all, that’s my job as your boy.

 

 

My Name Is...

I wear a hat, and a scarf,
And do the laundry.
I also do the cooking.
What more can I be?

I may not have the best defense
Against the germy germs.
And I may not be the best against
A patch of wiggly worms.

But I'll gladly look upon you
Through my tousled mop,
And feel like I'm in heaven,
Wishing it to never stop.

But when it does, I'll look on you
Again, and then again,
To keep returning to paradise
Until the very end.

POP!

There is a girl who works SO hard,
But her husband has a head of lard.
She toils daily, and for all her trouble,
She has to deal with a guy with a brain like a bubble.

She grabs the needle, and holds it by the top,
The eye, and with a jab, she goes "Pop."
And then the room is covered in brain slime,
Which is usually is, most of the time.

And brain slime's not good for nurturing soil,
In fact, it's more like puss in a boil.
It breaks down the good and builds up the bad,
It wears out the happy, and makes stronger the sad.

So, before this poor girl has had her fill,
And must daily stifle this urge to distill,
I'll let her know: this thing must stop!
Ready, set, go... POP!

Thanks, Part 7

To wrap up my thanks,
I'd like say what I'm thankful for most.
And this thing for which I'm thankful
I certainly like to boast.

I'm thankful that I have someone
Who's always there for me,
Be it in the early afternoon,
Or late night, half past three.

If ever I find myself too ill
To carry ever on,
She'll take good care of me
Until the sickness's gone.

There are those wedding vows:
"In sickness and in health."
I'm always rich, I'm never poor
When she's there; she's my wealth.

Thanks, Part 6

I find I'm thankful and have a lot to say:
Thanks be for such a thanksgiving day.
I'm glad that every year it rolls 'round
And I am able to make a thankful sound.

I'm glad I have a wonderful spouse,
Who helps give me a wonderful house.
She's there to help me, every step,
Definitely glad I'm the one she kept.

I'm also glad that our life is filled
With felines whose whines are thoroughly skilled;
For when they feel they would like some chow,
They'll come up to you and meow, meow, meow.

But mostly, I'm glad that I have my Ambz,
And that she too has got her Hamz.
I wouldn't trade it for money or gold,
Or vintage collectibles, no matter how old.

Thanks, Part 5

I'm thankful too for partial weeks,
So I don't have to put in 40,
And feel all wasted and tired
Exclaiming, "lordy, lordy."

I'm glad I can come home to a wife
Who's always glad to see me,
And I'm thankful I'm not someone else,
Wanting just to be me.

I appreciate the benevolence
And also all the grace
That helped put me where I am
Upon this very place.

I'm thankful that I can be here,
And that I have everything I need,
And most everything I want,
And have something to read.

Thanks, Part 4

I'm most thankful for a wonderful wife,
Who's there every step of my wonderful life.
And on whom I may find support,
For she's always there, a bulwark, a fort.

She may be solid, but she's also soft,
Her heart is more open than an apartment loft,
And she lets me know that to her I'm dear,
And is very thankful every time I'm near.

I'm thankful to, for her love is beyond measure,
And were able to be evaluated, would be a precious treasure.
What she means to me, in one word is: all,
For she lifts me up or catches me every time I fall.

And she's always there to provide the kindest of words,
Or the loveliest of songs, like the sweetest of birds.
Or, she'll tell me sweet nothings until my ear falls off,
Or until I breathe my last breath, or cough my last cough.

Thanks, Part 3

I'm sure you give thanks When I come home,
Ready to kill those spiders,
So you can lift your glass and toast
And then drink down all your ciders.

And though, at times, the bugs evade,
I do try to track them down,
As I know that sneaky arthropods
Tend to make you frown.

So, shoe or slipper or swatter be
In my hand, at the ready,
And the bugs' life will be cut short
By a cudgel at the steady.

I know that you like I
Have a distaste for bugs,
And so, when you need consolation,
I'll be there giving hugs.

Thanks, Part 2

I am most glad and thankful
For the fact that my future's not murky.
I'm glad, too, that I get to eat
On loads of delicious turkey.

I'm thankful we have a home
With a roof over our heads,
And cozy flannel sheets
Covering our bed.

I'm thankful that when things seem down,
You are always there
To turn aside my sadful frown
And show me that you care.

I'm thankful that in sickness and health,
Be I able to run a marathon or get the flu,
You'll always be there to laugh and care
And I'll always be there for you.

Thanks, Part 1

I'm thankful for my wife,
The love of my life,
Who is always there for me.

And when I have strife,
There is my wife,
To cut the chain and set me free.

I'm thankful that I can spend
Every last weekend
Sitting there by her side.

I'm glad and thankful too,
That she takes away my blues,
And fills me with a sense of pride.

Little T

Yay! Okay. So, it's turkey day.
But not Turkey day with a capital T.
It's turkey day, for just you, and me.
And maybe the cats.

And I can't wait. I know it'll be GREAT.
It's like our own holiday.
What else is there to say?
Do we need special hats?

It's amazing, I'm crazing about future grazing.
We'll be stocked to the gills,
Stuffed to the sills!
And won't want to see another ounce of food.

But look! What we cook! Maybe not from any book,
Though it's something that's nummy
To fill up our tummy,
And make us feel really, really good.

Little Visits

Little visits throughout the day
Add a little joy.
I guess I've got no choice but to say:
It takes away all my "oy."

I'm glad that I can flex my time
So I can spend some of it with you.
And while there may be no reason nor rhyme,
I'd take it, out of the blue.

The breaks of our days are nice,
And they give us a little boost
That we need to get through the ice
That keeps use less than juiced.

But pulped as it may make us
Whenever we're apart,
We know that it's not all loss:
When we're together, we get back the heart.

To Give

If I had something more for you to take,
I'd let you have an extended break.
I want you to have recuperation, and to have rest,
Because I think you deserve the best!

I want you to feel energized, and renewed,
And not to feel worn out, beaten, crude,
Or feel that the world is weighing down
On you just 'cause it likes to see you frown.

You deserve warm baths with candles and scented salts
And delicious burgers and fries and chocolate malts.
You deserve rest, reclining, with cucumbers on your eyeses,
And only the most pleasant kinds of surprises.

Most of all, you deserve what you need,
Which is something for which you shouldn't have to plead.
You deserve just a little time away
From dreary monotony day after day after day.

The Two Bandits

The bandits sneak up to the bag,
Their masks covering their eyes with a black flag;
They find in the bag a great treasure
Meant for their eating pleasure.

The bag, it tears, and the bandits see
A bounty of food, and it's all for free!
It's hard to believe, it's hard to debunk,
That someone would just get rid of this junk!

So, they gather up their spoils,
Before being spoiled by their toils,
And they do one more careful sweep.
They tread very quietly, 'cause everyone's asleep.

Then the pair of bandits hurry into the night,
And enjoy their feast, as the duo might.
They left the scene messy, a move quite rash,
But, then again, so is not disposing of your trash.

The Trou(m)bles

I know that if
The world around me crumbles,
And if the bees that swarm
Aren't the kind with bumbles,
And if the ground is rocky
And we stumble,
Or if the life we live
Gets humbled,
Or if I get so deaf,
Everything is a mumble,
And we have to run from things,
And tumble,
And day by day, we force ourselves
Not to grumble,

I know that no matter what happens, as long as we have each other,
We don't need to worry about the trou(m)bles.

1 in 1,000,002

If ever I feel a pain,
You won't rest until it's cured;
And if ever I lost my voice,
You'll do everything to make me be heard.

If ever I lose my way,
You'll help me get back on track;
And if ever I'm feeling down,
You'll be there to pat my back.

I've got a friend, I've got a companion:
Someone to help me share the load.
I've got a friend, I've got so much more;
And her presence is worth much more than gold.

If ever I start to cry,
You'll be there to wipe those tears;
And if ever I'm shuddered,
You'll chase away all my fears.

And, you know, if you ever need some help,
I'll do the same for you;
'Cause you're so special to me.
You're one in a million and two.

She's Got Beautiful Eyes

She's a girl who holds the world
In her eyes. It's no surprise
That when she sighs, the Earth's reprise
Is to spin a little slower.

The moon looks down on hallowed ground
Wherever she walks; and her talks
Are musical words, better than birds'
Songs, making plants grower.

She's amazing in every way, amazed
Me when she knew my name. The same
Day I thought I'd just hide
From the world, or get lost.

And she picked me up, and helped me be
A better person; helping me not worsen.
And from that start, I've had a heart
With her name embossed.

Collections

I am glad, once again
That the time has come
For the long and boring week
To draw to a close.

And then I shall pack my things,
Slinging my satchel over my shoulder
Returning home to those
Whom I love and adore.

Well, to her whom I love and adore,
And too two cats who are a nuisance.
But, the cats can't help it.
That's just their collective noun.

But the collective noun for us
Is not so humorous.
It's more true, than anything.
Our collective noun is "right."

Dragon Days

The days can get quite long,
And drag themselves along.
But there's always after hours
To charge up that those quality powers.
And then we have the end of the week,
A time for which we often seek,
Because it's two days of rest,
Though three days would be better, it's still for the best.

And here I find that my face misses
Those sweet looks, those tender kisses.
And my body craves for mugs
Filled up with your loving hugs.

And my heart flutters away like a flock of birds
To hear you talk with your gentle words,
Especially those words so true,
When you tell me, "I love you."

What Pain!

What pain, they say, when things hurt,
And oh, it just doesn't get better. Only wor't.
But relief, they say, is around the corner,
So don't let the agony make you any more forlorner.

You can pop analgesics until the pain stops,

But you only get a couple of hours, tops.
And then the pain comes back with a blast
Making you wish you had taken more in the past.

But pain is temporary; it shall soon be past,
Though I bet you wish it would move more fast,
As any pain at any time is quite too much
To deal with whenever, wherever, and such.

But if you're still hurting, here's what I'll do:
I'll make some time to help comfort you,
And help you deal with the intolerable pain
Before you (as I said before) start to go insane.

No More Stress

The lack of stressing
Is a blessing,
As it helps you feel relaxed.

No more distressing,
Or repressing.
Time for fate to cut some slacks.

It's a good time of day,
Or so they say,
That gives us some respite.

And we get to recharge
From the troubles small and large,
For otherwise awful they would get.

The Show

The artist arts to content her hearts,
But sometimes needs some recognition.
And when submitted to shows, she painfully knows
That she lacks that premonition.

Whether to win, or to again begin
After a walk of shame,
And spend some hours with artistic powers
To reenter the game.

The artist tries until she dies,
Or is at least exhausted,
Just to gain a little fame
In the sea of the world; not be lost-ed.

And then the call, her heart skips, pall-mall,
What is this, she now will know:
Both works have been accepted, not rejected,
And will be on display for the show.

A Champion for You

When times are tough,
I find you need a knight,
And not an argument,
A disagreement, or a fight.

A shining knight to battle
And slay those nay-saying foes
And to come back home in the end
And assuage all your woes.

A champion to take the time
To make you know quite keen
His plans for helping you,
So you know just what he means.

This champion, I'd like to be,
And I'd like to be with you
So we can be together,
Loving, honest, caring, and true.

How Sweet

If you ask me, my wife is so sweet;
How, you ask? She's got more sugar than a sugar beet.
She's much sweeter than the sweetest meat,
And she attracts fewer flies than extra-strength DEET.

Were she a shipping line, she'd have the best fleet.
Her living space is always tidy and neat.
She's got the loveliest two feet,
I notice as she walks down the street.

If my heart were a bird, it would go tweet, tweet, tweet,
When she comes around; What a treat!
Her beauty knocks me to my seat.
Being with her makes me feel elite.

My love for her is not discreet,
'Cause she makes my heart replete.
It's quite amazing: such a feat:
I'm complete.

Lazy Days

The lazy days, they reduce the craze,
And clarify the busy haze.
They show us that there're better ways
To live out our together days.

And, oh I long for days like that
To happen before the week's gone flat,
To be you, me, and (or two) a cat
To laze about, or sleep, like Sat.

Parting is painful, especially now,
When parting is august. And how!
I just want to be free of row,
And brush the hair from your sweet brow.

I know that this would be my ideal life:
One free of peril, malice, strife,
In which the time does not cut like a knife,
And I can spend forever with my sweet wife.

The Falcon

Just as the falcon soars above,
There is no limit to my love.
As the raptor's rapture's high,
My love, it flutters to the sky.

The hawk it flies unto the moon,
But my heart, it will get their soon.
The earth below, its grows to a dot
But never forgetting what there it's got.

And once it reaches to the highest peak,
It goes a bit further, and starts to creak.
It returns to the earth not because it's licked,
But because it realizes it's love-sicked.

And there my heart will settle best
In its warm and cozy nest
Where it will find what love demands
Nestled in between your hands.

The Mutant is Healthy

"The mutant is healthy,"
The doctor will say.
And for that word of sooth,
You'll still have to pay.

I wish that my health, though
Could extend quite beyond,
And into other aspects
Of which I am fond.

Temperance, it's best said,
Should be the pinnacle of control,
Or else you may transform
Into a hideous troll.

And this troll, whose diet
Does not consist of goat
Will leave you stranded
In a lonely ocean on a boat.

Problem Solving

When the chips and the cracks
Start to cut back the slacks,
I'll be here to solve the issue.

And when the heavy winds blow,
And the tears start to flow,
I'll be there with a tissue.

When those toils the pile
And they remove your smile,
I'll help you feel less like zero.

And when the troubles come back,
I'll give them quite an attack,
'Cause I know at times you need a hero.

And Then Some

And while the outside grows dim and cold, I know I've got somebody to hold; And no matter what they naysayers say, I'll be here for you until the last day.

And then some.

They clock it ticks, and tocks away
The hours, minutes, seconds wane,
And I'd give my very last dime
To have a never ending supply of you and me time.

And then some.

In the mornings when the day is freezing, Another hour of rest would seem so pleasing, But we must both arise and face the world So ordered things don't slowly become unfurled.

And then some.

But it's not so bad, when we're apart,
Because we're still linked at the heart.
We don't have to worry, or have to fear, Because no matter where we go, we're always near.

And then some.

Little Rhyme-O

Please don't feel sad or abandoned.
I have to write words 50-k,
In less than a month, you know,
I have to finish what I have to say.

But I'll still find time to spend with you,
While I'm toiling with 1667 w.p.d,
And not ever abandon you
To fix a plot hole, or make things more dialogue-y.

It's supposed to be a novel,
But I know that it's also my time,
And that time I don't have to be with you,
Though, I know I'll really try.

So, while I'm writing a magnum opus,
Or even an opus parvus,
I'll still tend to whatever you need,
Because you're simply marv'lous.

Hallowed Evening

When spirits haunt the night, they find
That strangers can ofttimes be kind
And distribute paltry things, as sweets
To the goblins, ghouls, and ghosts to eats.

Together we sit and paint our pumpkins,
Better than the country bumpkins.
(I know they're not really pumpkins, but an orange fruit.
I just couldn't find a rhyme that would suit).

Halloween is a time when the spirits walk
Upon the streets, the roads, the dock,
And gather up a sackful of candy,
And go back to their graves thinking things are dandy.

But I'm glad that you're not a ghost,
Because being with you is what I love the most.
But, if you do become one, hear my want:
My heart is in the need of a perpetual haunt.

Break in Days

There are times and there are ways
To get a little break in days,
And get some time to spend with you
('Cause that's what I'd like to do).

And on Fridays, I get to come
Home early, and be a bum.
Or we could get our groceries bought,
Or other things (there are a lot!).

We can watch the sun move, or the planes fly by, Or look deeply into each other's eye, Or we can watch the cats, quite amusing, Sleeping, snoring, reclining, snoozing.

Nevertheless, how we spend our time
Is wonderful, as it is just mine
(and I suppose, it can also be yours).
I love free time, especial in hours.

Match-Girl

Match-Girl is a girl whose head
Is an Ohio blue tip match instead.
She can't go through life without a care, For the sign on her side says "strike anywhere."

And times, when the heat gets hot,
She struggles not to ignite with all she's got, Preventing the flames from getting loose, She knows that most matches are one-time use.

But the friction of life, it sometimes yearns To have little Match-Girl say "it burns,"
And live fully well up to her name,
Bringing forth a white, hot flame.

But Match-Girl knows well of this danger, And keeps away from the stressful stranger, And tries daily to fight woe and doubt, Because that will keep her from burning out.

The Champion

When the world starts to overwhelm,
Grab your bracers, greaves, and helm.
Grab your shield and grab your sword
And ignore all but the encouraging word.

The naysayers and the ne'er-do-wells,
Their words may burn like the blazing hells, But, remember this, when they start to talk:
Their inane words are just mindless squawk.

But if you do need further proof,
Look into the mirror of truth.
It's image, you'll find, never lies,
Though the results may surprise.

I see you, a talented champ
Fighting against a soul-draining clamp,
Forced every day to deal with foes
Who add multiplicity to your woes.

But I also see a heroine, shining bright, Ready to rise up, to stand and fight Against people who hurtfully babble.
Free yourself from the rabble.

A Flight of Fancy

Fly away into the sky,
Where the air is crisp and thin
Up into the atmosphere, fly
To the place where you begin.

The stars may shine down,
But they're just urging you up.
So, don't worry, don't cry don't frown.
Just empty that woeful cup.

There is no ceiling to break,
And there is not wall to hinder
Your progress up; you can take
The path you knew when you were a kinder.

Don't worry about the earthbound souls
Who like to tell you to fall, fall, fall, 'Cause you've surpassed their mundane roles And have joined the Sky's grand ball.

New Order

If you change the order of things,
You will find the patterns upset.
But to give a little variety
May be one of the best things you can get.

You can find a whole new world
If you change your standard route.
And you could find you like a food
If you'd just let go of doubt.

And then there's those times when you find That things were better when You did all your tasks in a proscribed order, And you long to do it like that again.

But without change, you're living your life The exact same way each day.
So it's beneficial to try some new things.
You never know what will come your way.

Don't forget, though, those things you have That are tried and true.
No matter what new things come my way,
I'll never trade out for you.

When Tired's Tiered

I'm sorry for the times I misunderstand.
I just want to take up and hold your hand
And tell you that things aren't so bad.
In fact, to be with you, I'm glad.

I'm sorry that at times, I'm a bit of a grump,
Or when I wander into a silent sort of slump.
I don't mean to partition myself off
From you, for you draw me like a light does moth.

You're hear for me, and I'm here for you,
Though, sometimes I forget the right thing to do.
I just want you to know that through rain or shine,
That I only want to be loving, and caring and kind.

It's difficult at times, when one takes the nocturne,
And the other, which is me, sticks with the diurne.
But, I know that after a little bit of time,
Things will be nice, be good, be fine.

Restful

A day of rest is what we need
Moreso than a Lorax lacks a need for a thneed.
And that rest, it belongs hand-in-hand,
Together, in the merry restful land.

I'm glad for the days when we can spend
With one another, without having to send
One of us away on a tiresome chore
So we don't ever have to feel the bore.

Whatever it is, I'm sure we know
Every time we're together, we can take it slow.
Not only slow, but also quiet,
Ubiquitous silence, the antithesis of a riot.

Why can't we have this sort of deal
Always, for it's something I feel
Like those times when everything's serene,
Knowing what everything means.

Shiver

The sleepy dreams, they're not enough
When the cold winds come and rebuff.
What I need is loving care,
For a lack of having more hair.

If a cover had ears, I'd probably thank it For being such a nice, cozy, warm blanket.
But a blanket is a blank, unless it's got Someone to use it when the air is not hot.

I'm thankful that, when the days grow cold, I don't have to shiver until I'm old.
There's someone out there, looking out for my life, To warm me up with a blanket and wife.

Storm

The wind blows like a heavy gale,
And its gusts roll and fill the sale,
But on this stormy sea of fate,
We must find time to love, not hate.

The torrent shakes a mighty temblor,
And the rain is chill, like mid-December.
The waves they crest and fall to bow
And tear asunder our ship's prow.

The sun, it's face, nowhere to be found
In the sky or below the ground.
The clouds they roll and roil free,
And thunder claps most ominously.

But the storm is not a thing of end,
It can be a beginning, a sign to mend.
When the clouds have passed, the sun shines down, And helps to heal the sadly frown.

Little Helpers

I'm glad we have our little helpers
To tell us what to do.
If we stand around for long enough,
They'll prompt us with a "mew."

"You're doing it wrong," or perhaps,
"You're not doing it right!"
And if you ignore them for too long,
Goodness! What a fright!

With pitiful sounds, they try to
Control us with their tiny yelps,
But we know better, mostly,
That they're manipulative whelps.

But at times, they'll stand up tall
And belt out a meow,
Which can be considered a cat's call
For "Feed me! Right now!"

The Tooth!

The tooth? Can you handle the tooth?
I know it hurts, I know it pains!
But, the tooth, the tooth, it still remains, The jolting hurt, as psyche stains.

I'm glad it hurts much less, now.
The tooth! Alas! What trouble;
More so, were it double!
Hurting more than ingrown stubble!

But the pain has subsided with no dentic proof, You're doing better, less the hurt, Though while you chew, you're more alert, And wish to render the pain inert.

Fear you not, and don't sweat the brow!
If trouble persists, we'll make a trip
To the dental practitioner without a slip, And get that tooth in condition, shapely-ship.

Cider Bath Rules

When cinnamon spices and boiling, or mulling, Makes you glad of apples' culling.
And when the rocks go fizz, snap, pop,
It makes you wish it would never stop.

The spicy scent of apple cider
Does not need Halloween decor, zombies, a spider, To make the autumnal effect complete.
It need not be ghost and ghoul replete.

And in fact, with holiday cheer,
One could drink cider in place of beer,
Or grandpa's favorite 100 proof 'nog,
Or the hair of the you-biting dog.

It spans the time from fall and snow
And were it able to be harvested there below, Would also be a summer treat (But we don't have to let that sign defeat).

Just 'Cause

Please don't think I am a creep,
Just because I watch you sleep.
I'm simply enamored, I find I lose
Time's track to watch you snooze.

To hear you breathe while you dream away,
It makes me feel like today
I should do what I can just to kepp
You from waking up; Go back to sleep.

While you're there with your dreams,
Is life different than it normally seems?
Are you glad to have 40 winks to take,
And sleep right now, not yet to wake?

And when you arise, what will you do?
Will you yawn, and stretch, and coo?
Will you wake from your dream like the slice of a knife
And find your dreams come true in waking life?

Olden Times

A long, long time ago,
We were in a different land
Walking through those different streets,
Holding on, hand in hand.

We journeyed out, and met the king,
We met the prince, the duke, the queen,
And all the present company,
We met them on the scene.

We watched the mighty birds of prey,
We took the time to feast with lords,
We had ourselves a glorious day,
And watched the jester swallow swords.

All in all, I must truly say
That a day best spent with you
Is a day best spent, wherever we went,
As long as that day is true.

More Oranges

It may be by now, you're sick of oranges,
But a quest is a quest, no matter how boringes.
From up on high, to the dinosaurs below,
Wher this started, who is to know.

After the quest
Comes the rest.
(The rest of what? You might say).
A restful weekend, starting today.

"Hold on," you say,
"It's not that easy.
I hope you're seated,
Or, if you aren't won't be queasy."

A trip to where?
How long a drive?
Well, I suppose it's not so bad,
As long as we're together, alive.

The Creatures of Doom

Vile creatures slither and slink
And put you almost at the brink
Until you simply must rebuff
Before you say, "I've had enough!"

The creatures that bite, and those that slink, And those that slime, and creep, and stink Will have no chance, absolutely no way To bother you, once you've used pest-spray.

And it won't be a sweltering heat
Turning your skin and muscles into well-done meat, As I would hope the next time you're there, The weather is nice, and the sky is clear.

So, oranges, and dolls, and all manner of things Will be before us in droves, in rings, And you'll take pictures, and maybe a sketch, And won't have to worry about a pestly wretch.

Takin' Care of Me

I know that at times I'm ill,
But you find it in your heart to take care of me still.
I know that at times I probably seem sad,
But that doesn't keep you from making me glad.

I know that at times I feel simply tired,
But that doesn't make you tell me "As a husband, you're fired."
I know that at times I'm simply a grump,
But you don't strap me to the roof of the car and drive me to the dump.

I know that at times I tend to be quiet,
But that doesn't make you start a riot.
I know that at times I can be a pain,
But that doesn't make you any less sane.

I know that at times I'm simply a bore,
But you don't see me as an onerous chore.
And I know that at times I try to be perfect,
And when I'm not, you know I mean no disrespect.

The Brainless

Many times, and interesting tale
Involves a hero who is bright as a snail.
For, if our dashing youth were smart,
The story wouldn't make it past the first part.

So, bumbling, he goes, into the fray,
And we sit and watch and sigh away.
Keep this in mind, while in your strife:
This hero is a slice of life.

IRL, we see events ring
When people do the dumbest things.
"What were they thinking? Were they drunk!?
Did somebody replace their brain with a stone chunk?"

At least, we can both be glad
That the each other's brain's not so bad,
And when the time is right, we can do our part,
And only contribute to things that are smart.

What a Pain!

What pain, it feels, to have to go
Back to work. Don't it blow?
And then you just sit and watch
The time go by upon the cloch.

The steam whistle blows,
But not like work, you knows,
It's usually a better sound,
Telling you to hit the ground.

Though, each evening, as short as they are
Are like little weekends, the real being far
Away. But things don't have to feel that blue,
'Cause until then, you have me, and I have you.

Party Time

I know that some times, we don't have time for fun,
But I know that today was a day that wasn't one,
As I feel that from beginning to last,
Sunday, funday, was a wild and crazy blast.

It's not every day we get to do
Some things that make us less blue,
But when we do get a chance,
It's like feelin' so good, you just gotta dance.

Gimme a Break!

There comes a time when you need to take
A break.
And I'm glad that you can take one
With me. Fun.

The work will be there when you are
Ready. So far,
It's not more than you can bear,
I swear.

But, just to be on the safe side,
Abide
By this simple rule: If you ever feel bad,
Or sad

Just call on Jacob, and he'll make you feel glad.

Short by Sweet

I find myself always glad to spend
My days with her on the week's end.

Smiles and Non Frowns

Don't be fooled by my lack of a smile.
I'm only like that every once in a while.
'Cause when I'm around you, in our place,
Sometimes a smile creeps unexpectedly to my face.

If I were you, I'd take this as found:
That if I'm sad, I'll wear a frown.
If I'm happy, which is my usual state,
My mouth may not say it, but inside, I'm great.

I guess when I smile, I'm really, really glad,
So when I'm not grinning, please don't feel bad!
Part of it is, I don't want to be fake,
And have a smiled believed when it's make.

Be it years of trying to hide my heart,
Or something in my brain keeping soul and mouth apart,
I want you to know that you fill me with such joy,
And that I'm glad to always be your boy.

Laugh, Love, Dance

The tasks at hand are rarely done,
As when you do complete 'em,
You then get handed even more,
And then you must defeat 'em.

Recurring tasks, they never end,
And when they come, they come.
They're always there, so don't pretend
That away them you run from.

But there's hope, or so I hope,
That there will be a cease of tasks,
And then you and I will finally
Get a chance to relax.

In the meantime, though,
Let's take every chance
We have to spend time with one another,
To laugh, love, and dance.

The Gate, Revisted

At the gate
I sit and wait.
And as the hours wax,
I find that fate
Finds time to wait.
To sit down, and relax.

But we do not
Have the time fate's got
To be at ease, at rest,
For we have got
Work (quite a lot)
As the sun goes east to west.

But at the gate,
I find it's great
When I get paid a little visitation
And though it's late,
And though I wait,
I find I'm in more than one location.

And so I awake
With dreams to take,
To find myself under cover.
And my heart will quake,
But never break:
Such love from a lover.

(NOT) The Administrator of the World

Did I mention that I hate the fact
That come Monday, my joy becomes redact,
And I'm stuck in a world with helpless jerks
Who rely on me to do their works.

"That's not my job," I suppose I could say,
But they're too stupid for me to put it that way.
Or if I redirect them to someone who can help,
They still pester me like a needy little whelp.

Every new Monday, I dread to return
To see what new concoction they churn
And then fling at me with a piteous whine,
Asking me to make their problems seem fine.

I can't fix every problem as things become unfurled!
I'm not the Administrator of the World!
...
I'm just glad that one person asks me to
Do the jobs that she knows are mine to do.

Fix'em Up'em

When our computer beeps and sputters,
And makes you want to toss it in the gutters,
I step up and offer to fix it up.

And when the cats shed all over,
Coating carpets in cat-leaf clover,
I'll be there to vacuum it up.

But when the husband has trouble,
Like an illness, having to live in a bubble,
I'm incapable of helping out.

'Cause that husband's me, and I just can't
Fix myself up right, how much I want.
But that's why I have you, without a doubt.

Rest Your Little Head

Just rest your little head,
And forget about the world.
Try to fall asleep,
In my arms you're curled.

And in my arms, you're curled;
That's where you belong,
As you rest your little head,
And listen to my song.

Work is Work

Business trips leads you to be
In places quite businessy.
And on those trips, you often find
That there's often something left to buy.

And then you're home, and working hard,
And in the daily grind, cries "lardy lardy."
The cycle, you find, will never end,
'Cause more work comes by, real or pretend.

At least you have a sign of toil
Called an outbox, but not filled with soil
To grow a tree of your accomplishments,
Or shoo away those not heaven-sents.

But work is work, and that is that.
You can escape it, but facts is facts,
That the best way there is to get it done
Is to realize that at times work can be fun.

Dab and Splat

A dab here, a spot there.
And after enough time,
A picture.

Everyone else dabs and splats
But I know someone who
Works harder.

So, if there's one theme
Of others, no matter how big
(And when it's big, it's
Admittedly, easier),
You have two, or more themes going.
You've outdone them all.

And I hope your instructor
Is as proud of you
As I am.

Or at least,
Gives you a good grade.

Your Biggest Fan

You know, I'm your biggest fan.
And while the case it that most fans blow,
I'll be the kind that is helpful,
To help to help you go.

And when those skies fill up with clouds
That are all stormy and gray,
I guess that's when I can blow,
And make the clouds go away.

Sure, I know that fan
Is really short for "fanatic,"
But I can also be the kind
That oscillates, automatic.

And also the kind that helps
You when you're down,
And the kind that turns a smile
From a frown.

Hypnosis

There is a hypnotic spell
Upon me, I think, don't you agree?
Can you see it? Is it working?
Will it make me feel unwell?

My eyes, normally dots,
Or pupils and irises,
Become swirling vortexes,
When the hypnosis starts.

And my will is not my own.
"Yes, master." "No master."
Like an automaton.
Or an automatic voice on the phone.

What triggers this hypnosis?
Why, I suppose it's you.
Whenever you're near.
Sometimes I want to buy you roses.

S'ain't Monday

The day of the moon, it shines once again
Trying to convince me that it is my friend.
But I must say this, that after Sunday,
I should be entitled to a St. Monday.

Why do people try to get done
Anything this day other than fun?
Everybody's tired, so don't pretend
That a two days makes for an adequate weekend.

It's not just a return to the rigmarole,
Nor the feeling that we're prisoners stuck on pa(y)role(/l).
It's just the same the things we miss
When we go to work, leaving home with a kiss.

I am certain fewer would be annoyed
If they found they could last as self-employed,
And never have to leave their homes
Or be forced to toil alone.

Little Kisses

Little kisses, lipstick red,
On face and hands and neck and head,
Are silk, and smooth, and not ignored.
Aching muscles made de-sored.

A line of red, like mapped trails,
Upon a canvas (but not a canvas of sails),
Leads to treasures, to the lot,
Revealing that x-marks-the-spot.

The Colors of the Main-bow

There are times when some men think
That they cannot get away with wearing pink.
But think of all the other colors they wear
To match their eyes, or shoes, or hair.

Have you ever seen a macho dude
Decked out in pastels, or baby-blued?
Or, a Vikings fan, bedecked in purple
From the top of his head, down to his murple.

So, why do they consider a man a fink
When he wears a light red, a pale scarlet, a pink.
So, my suggestion, while it may seem sissy
Is to don something pink, and ignore being called "missy,"

For what differentiates a man in one color
Than any other shade, lighter or duller?
And need you an excuse for dressing this kind,
Merely tell nay-sayers, "Aren't all men colorblind?"

To Choose

I wish I could,
Thinking, I should,
Or should I?
I can't decide.

It's the clock
On the wall
And the seconds
Fall.

I fail,
Wail,
Or chase my tail.
No sail.

Tacking, backing,
Ever packing
It in,
For the win.

For the lose.
I must chose
Between working life
And loving wife.

I chose you.

The Busy Student

You, you know, have quite a bit
Of work you do, how do you do it?
Unless, you never sleep, only sit.

Maybe it's a special rite,
At least, allowing you to work through the night,
Killing not, I hope, nor even a blight,
Either that, or not a mortal fight.

Make it so, and your work is done.
Even if the journey was not that fun.

Silver lights, they bellow down
Over that lonely little frown.

Perhaps you've a super power:
Roses are red, and they are your flower.
Open the buds, and the petals, they shower
Up from above, as if from a tower.
Done with your work, without even a glower.

(You make me so proud)

Mrs. Me

I misses you,
My Mrs. Me.
When we're apart
I long to be

With you.

I muster strength.
It's killing me
To be away,
So far, to be

From you.

I cannot wait
To come on home.
At that time,
I'll not be alone

For you.

And at that time,
All things are good,
Just like they
Always should.

Hey you.

When Tlaloc Doesn't Rock

Rain, rain, go away.
And maybe come around laters,
When I'm safe and sound, under ground,
You can rain upon the skaters.

Please don't rain on me,
Or on my sweet little wife
Who's stuck at school, so uncool,
Freezing off her life.

Please stop raining on us
When we're in the car.
The wipers cast at maximum blast,
But we're not getting very far.

Please cease raining,
Until we can get inside,
And be dry, and three stories high,
And not have soaking hide.

Hazy Days

If you work too hard,
You might just find
That things are not at all
That well-defined.

If you stay up late,
The days, the blur,
And become a smudge,
A haze, a slur.

Only with order
Can the passage of days
Make things clearer,
And less of a haze.

But at times,
That's out of the question,
As the work weighs heavy,
And becomes time's sequestrion.

Lord of the Wings

Ambdro Flagon and Hamsize Baggie
Needed to find the Wings of Power,
So, they rode their steed, humble Tinkerfax
Past the Field of Flower.

And there, they found the Walls of Martdor,
And within these walls were beasts
Such as Clorks, and Hobblins, and Mexerlings,
All in the way of their feasts!

And wait ten minutes, they did,
At the temple of Miles of Cyradis,
Until the Wings were forged,
And they fled the Walls of Martdor without being missed.

Returning to the Shire on the Lake,
Where they were greeted by Jessica, daughter of Bessica, and Pequod the Stinky,
They enjoyed the Wings of Power,
And then went to bed, snored and winky.

Nocturnal Wife

I don't mind having a nocturnal wife,
Living out her nocturnal life,
Spending her nights awake, and her days
She tends to spend in a daze.

But I'll still love her, even if
Her pupils dilate, and the sun she doesn't miss,
And her skin takes on a silver pallor,
And has daydreams that make her holler.

And even if this becomes my new life,
I'll gladly spend it with my nocturnal wife.

Snow White

There was a time when the seven dwarfs
Decided that they were
Not going to be with Snow White
And so they went afar.

And the elder dwarf, she led the rest
Down a path obscure,
Until the dwarfs, one by one,
Fell into a deep, dark sewer.

There Snow White sat, upon the floor,
Choking on the apple they dwarfs called hers,
And it all seemed lost, and the brambles grew
Around her, surrounding her with burrs.

And the Prince, he came, with sword in hand,
Kicking down the door,
And planted a kiss on the one he missed,
The one he must adore.

The Queens Champion

There is an armor that I wear
To help protect and to help care
For you when you're not feeling safe,
Or feeling threatened by a ghastly wraith.

There is a sword that I hold
With blade of ancient steel, cold
And with it, I will vanquish foes
That bring forth a world of woes.

There is a shield that a bear
To protect you from ground, sea, and air,
And the attackers that may try to harm;
You are protected by my arm.

I will defend you when you need defense,
And will come to your rescue without pretense.
And armor or not, if you feel other than snug,
You can ask of me, I'll give you a hug.

The Pests' Demise

I declare, as I stand upon this box of soap
That though the battle may seem lost, there still is hope.
I make this declaration, now and today:
If you are not welcome here, then you will go away.

We do not need your kind crawling through our walls,
Or lingering outside our doors, or loitering in our halls.
You may return whence you came,
Otherwise, the exterminator will find ample game.

And as you face the poisons that will destroy,
You must understand: your extermination is our joy.
We do not need any more pests
In our home making any more nests.

So, until you decide to start paying rent,
I have to call in your tab, everything I have lent.
Oh? No money? You cannot pay?
Well, that won't really matter now, after today.

Reasons and Places

Just as years are made up of seasons,
All our choices are made up of reasons.
And just like an area is defined as a space,
A reasonable conclusion leads to a place.

Be Yourself

Remember: always be yourself,
And never forget what you have on the shelf.
Your talents and attitudes are what make you what you are,
And if you use them to their fullest, well, then you'll most likely go far.

If the world seems heavy, or people seem apathetic,
Know that what you do is completely copacetic.
Nobody can tell you what you HAVE to do,
Except, of course, that is, you.

So, be yourself, if you don't mind.
And let your kindness be the shining kind.
Don't worry about naysayers, of course.
'Cause we all know what says nay: the horse.

Hay, oh, hey, you've no time for detractors,
Or eponymous equestrian vile malefactors.
You, instead, have plenty of time to be
The you you are when you say "I am me."

The Omniplex

Welcome to the Omniplex.
We've got everything you could watch.
And it's not as expensive
As the theater (and better, by a notch).

Our selection may seem limited,
But it's really quite extensive.
A bit eclective, and,
Somewhat light, somewhat pensive.

It's never the same, here, you see,
As our selection varies.
And you may be surprised at
The movies the Omniplex carries.

And there's never a mess!
The Omniplex caters to a very limited clientelle.
Only two people, really,
And they attend the 'plex quite well.

Walk About

Walking around
The town
With you
Never an ache from my shoe,
As I have better things
On my mind (it sings).

I'd gladly walk
Another mile and talk
Until my face is blue,
And you
Look at me, and say
"What a wonderful day."

Work and Duty

The work is toilsome and hard,
And makes you wish for solace.
I want you to have peace,
And joy, and rest, no less.

I want you to accomplish
Everything you have to do,
And when you run out of colors,
I'll get you more red, yellow, and blue.

But I also want to be with you,
'Cause that's what you do to me.
I understand that you're occupied
With work. At times, really busy.

But I know that you and I both want
To just shirk our duties and
Be together for an afternoon,
In a park, hand-in-hand.

A Challenge

The invasion encroaches upon our home.
But I'll have none of it.
We'll meet them at the doors, in the holes, under sinks,
And make things the right fit.

There isn't much room in this here place
For us and for them,
So we should send them all packing, and give them poison
To take back home to stem

A total pesticide, attacking the base of the nest,
And they won't last a day
Longer than it takes to get an exterminator
Through the office, or for pay.

After the fog has lifted, and the dust has fell,
We'll survey the battle zone,
And declare with fists in the air:
They can take away the sewers, but never our home!

Ouch, My Comp!

I'm very sorry if you're bored.
I guess some computer components...
Don't last seven years, sometimes.
I'll fix it ASAP.

A Perfect Number

There is a hidden gem that comes
With a three day weekend, and it sums
To be that since there are seven days,
Seven minus three comes out in only one ways.

As any mathematician will tell:
Seven minus three can be quite well.
In fact, it is a perfect square,
Which a carpenter could use for a perfect chair.

And not only that, but it's root is prime!
Which makes it odd most of the time.
Only this prime is special, as it's even
And balanced like a table during the feast of Stephen.

Though, some mathematicians might want to play:
"It is five plus e to the i pi," (or Euler's identity).
But that's simply four, and they're being a jerk
To tell you that you've got one less day of work.

Illness

When your not feeling up to snuff,
I'll run out and get your healing stuff.
It doesn't matter if it's half past three,
For I'll do whatever (you'd do the same for me).

And though my head may feel quite weary,
I'll never feel towards you quite leery,
As if you're sick, you'll be quite honest
And to disbelieve that, I'd be admonished.

So, in the car, we go down the street
To the 24-hour store, quite a feat,
And though the eyes are quite tired,
I get you what you need, as is required.

And we return home and skirt the bugs
Who run around like nocturnal thugs,
And you get your cure, and soon, to bed
Where you can rest your body and rest your head.

Naps

You work so hard, I barely see
The wife that fate has given me.
You stay up all night, And in the day,
You take a nap. What more to say?

Though I enjoy reading my books,
I love more the time we give each other looks.
And though I don't mind watching over your sleep,
I miss the time together we keep.

I know why you work so hard,
For accomplished work is its own reward.
I just wish that once in a while,
The time would stop so we could smile.

And we could dance, or sing, or talk,
Or take a moonlight, briny, beachy walk.
Or do something else, but, oh, it seems,
That the thing we do best is share our dreams.

New Toy! Oh Joy!

I find myself quite elated,
Though it comes a bit belated.
It's my birthday gift from her,
And it's exactly what I was after.

Now, when I'm on the go,
I can still say "Hello."
And can still keep in touch
Through the onslaught and the rush.

I can write quite remotely,
And if I'm feeling, take a note-y.
Or maybe send her a little message:
"You fill me with much blessage."

Though the screen is small,
I know her heart is not,
For she has given me more:
That is, all she's got.

An Infinity of Love

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways,
Every dark, and stormy night, and the bright, shiny days.
And there's a calm before the storm will blaze
Like a hot knife through butter, I end the clichés.

One word I've found best to describe you
Has three letters: "Y-O-U,"
As you are unique, like the sky is blue,
Or like 1=1 is always true.

Two times, I've found, at least,
I'd journey with you from west to east.
And do so again, a celebration, a feast!
Even if I become deceased.

Three days, I find, I have with you here,
And all those days, I'll keep you near,
And whisper sweet nothings in your ear
(and sweet nothings too, won't disappear).

Ellipses are used to imply duration.
Visualize them here, as a dotted formation.

Infinity-minus-one, while not actually a number
Is how much of you I can take without being an encumber.
I'd wish every night to be us, in a slumber,
And the only pickles we face come from a cucumber.

Infinity here, and finally the end
Of my counting the ways you're more than a friend.
I'm a prisoner to your love, you apprehend
My heart (and on you, I depend).

An infinity of love is a lot of information.
Though, you've given me reason for such celebration.

A Curl

A curl,
A girl,
My arms,
So charmed.

My life!
My wife,
To sleep,
Not weep.

Rest now,
And how
Your dreams
sweet seems.

Not here
A tear
Your cheek
To seek.

Night's Lullaby

When you stay up and work all night,
It makes me proud of your determination.
Though, I know at times, you want to douse the light
Before you face extermination.

The dreams will come when the time is right,
And not a moment sooner.
If you're tired, don't put up a fight,
'Cause soon, you'll be a gooner.

I know it's rough. I know it's hard.
I know that everything seems to be wrong.
But listen to these very words:
You sing your own life's song.

And as your lullaby lulls you to sleep,
You find it's often said
That you just wish yourself to keep
Just a few more minutes in bed.

Patterns

There are times when things seem boring,
And times when your finger handles no ring.
There are times when things seem fine,
And you'll find my hand has the ring that's mine.

A pattern emerges with each day, you toil,
And take your many paces upon terrestrial soil.
Though you may loathe it, hair and hide,
You'll find one day you'll hit that stride.

And once you do, things will be simple,
And you'll actually provide a smile for a dimple.
Things aren't always as bad as they seem;
Just give patience, and for your time's worth deem.

You'll find that though it may not feel cool,
You're getting better each day you spend in school.
And in a bit, your education will be complete,
And at that time, you will feel replete.

New Experiences

A new world, it seems,
With each new day.
New classes, new teachers,
New teacher, new way.
And your work is new,
Though strikingly familiar,
Putting new use to your
Artistic distiller.
I know that you will succeed,
Out of talent, dedication, and need.
And in the end, new or not,
You will give it all you've got.
I'm proud of you for working hard
From dawn to dusk clocked on your time card.
And from dusk to dawn, sometimes you toil
Burning up that midnight oil.
Every day, new, not, or now,
You're ever proving you're "the cat's meow."

Get Well Swoon

At those times that you feel ill
To get you better, I'd almost kill
(Though I wouldn't, because in that case,
I'd be unable to help you, being in another place).

I'd wish you better, had I a lamp of djinn,
Or find a way to make the feelgoodiness begin.
And if you found yourself craving something odd,
I'd journey far to get it, even to the feet of God.

But, I'd like to not have to go too far
When you're feeling ill, and I'm in the car,
For if I find myself to distant,
Who will be your favored assistant?

In that case, I'll be here by your side,
And get you what you need. I'll abide.
I'll clamor until you're feeling well,
Inform me of your needs, pray tell.

Pop

The bubbles flutter, then they pop.
They land on the ground, falling where they stop.
And though they have a nepeta scent,
I wonder where those cat of ours went.

Nevertheless, when we're here at home,
Neither you nor I are ever alone.
Our love is not a passing fad,
And it is the greatest love there is to be had.

Breaks

At long last, the first of breaks!
Let us cherish it so,
For the next one won't be for some time
(So the stories go).

And the one after that has the power of three,
Which may not matter much to you
Who gets three days off every week
But, you'll get an extra day too.

Breaks are what let us recharge our cells
And keep us in decent shape
For the following week, which comes, ready or not.
Hardly giving, it always takes.

But this break, while about R&R
Doesn't have to be a bore,
'Cause we can still have some fun
Or sleep soundly with a snore.

A Kind Gardener

The sleepy flower rests her bud
Until the sun has risen.
And when the orb shines in the sky,
The bud unfurls petals towards her god.

The flower, fragrant and bright
Makes itself known to man and bee alike
But cares only for the light of the sun
And for the water of the earth.

Some flowers, though, are so fragile
That the sun and water is not enough
To keep them growing in an environment
Not suitable for cultivation.

These flowers require more than light
And more than water to thrive.
They need the touch of a loving hand.
They need a kind gardener.

Rapport

The clock tick-tocks
And I'm shocked to find
The time has gone bye-bye,
It's kind of bad to see
The time flow by.
I wish I could stop it,
But I don't know why
Or what I'd do to turn
The beat around
And to turn those anti-smiles
Upside-down.

I've got a little bit of a notion
That every bit's like a drop in the ocean
And eventually, that drop goes drip,
And causes the table's scales to tip
We've got to find the way to rewind
Before this yarn initiates unwind.
Twenty-four is the hours we know
But before you realize it, where'd it go?
It's bad enough that I have to spend my days
Crammed and stuffed in a cubicle maze
And with each minute, I start to craze
As the deli Eye of Mammon gives its evil gaze.
I'd rather be with the love of my heart,
Happy and free from end to the start
And gazing into a non-evil eye
From the day I was born to the day that I die.
But nevertheless, life keeps moving
For the worst or the best, we just keep grooving
Like dancers at the end of time
Or riders on a bus at the end of the line.

To keep it short: here's my decree:
Give me more time with my A-M-B.

School Days

The first day wasn't so bad.
I know it had its share of stress,
But it really could have been worse, you know.
I could have never found a parking space; oh distress!

The many trials we face,
We must face, or else be backed
By someone else who can face them,
'Less the trials may attack.

And I can be there, facing
The trials as they come
Providing all the needed shelter,
A mighty bulwark, a secure home.

So, today, when we venture out
Into the big, scary world,
I'll be there to help you
Feel like more than a scared little girl.

My Amber

Amber, you see, is not a game.
There are no points, or pieces,
And no events are ever the same
(Though never we quest for magic fleeces).

My Amber is more than a lump or a rock,
With a small bug trapped inside.
What once came from a tree, passing the clock,
Is not the Amber in whom I confide.

Amber is not a missing child,
Blaring lights on a light board on the street.
She's instead really rather mild,
And I find her to be quite neat.

What my Amber gives me
Is a song to sing,
Because my sweet, precious Amber
Is my everything.

Autumnal Cleaning

Labor and burdens,
Here they do abound,
As we take heavy furnishings
And lift them from the ground.

And then with a machine
Whose nature is vacuous,
We remove ingrained cat hair
In a patterned attacuous.

Take a break for dinner,
Or take a break to rest
And eat the food you've sitting
From your tired chest.

The sun, it sleeps, at night time,
And we should be sleeping too.
When we work together,
There's nothing we can't do!

The Last Days of Freedom

What would you like to eat?
Anything, it may be.
Would you like vegetables? Meat?
It's your last meal, you see.

Have you anything to say
Either tomorrow, or today?
Any last words you'd like
Us all to know?

And when the music plays,
I'll take your hand in mine.
We can dance for days,
A last dance is not unkind.

There is one thing I shall miss,
And that shall be your kiss.
So make that last kiss
Something to show.

Onion-Chives and Queens

There was a time when onion rinds
Cause the cat to cry,
And made the carpet turn to hair,
And help the pigs to fly!
But this was stopped; her eye was mopped,
And our solution was quite sly.

So, no more, for we've found it poor
To buy the onion whole,
And instead get quite ahead
And buy it in a bowl.
While it may be simpler today,
It's also good for the soul.

But some things, I'd like to say,
Are not made better when
You have someone do them for you
Again, and again, and again.
And one such thing in truth ring:
The writing of the pen.

And so I write with mad delight
A song of many scenes:
Of porcine birds and pretty words,
Of onion-chives and queens,
And how I love my sweetest wife:
The girl within my dreams.

And every day, I have to say:
No more onion-chives for queens!

Upon My Heart

The words are written upon my heart.
They were written there from the beginning,
From the very start.
And they'll be there unto the end.

What do these words on my heart say?
"Even if you don't feel like it," it reads,
"Please don't go away."
That's just one of such things as written.

Other things, like being patient and kind,
You will, if you look, discover,
That upon my heart, you will find
All manner of secrets hidden.

Basically, the heart models love,
Which is something to be held before
All other things. It is the most above.
And everything else can go after.

tacit

Sometimes, I find it best
To shut my big, dumb mouth.

Can't I Miss You?

The mornings are weary
And wave through my mind
I think that they are too soon
And not too kind

The yawn it comes readily
And the eyes feel quite dry
I'm sad that it's morning
Though I have no reason to cry

And them I'm ready
Within the span of a hour
Do I have time to sniff the roses
Or that grape-flavored flower

And before you know it
I'm driving in my car
Always traveling
But never getting very far

Monday's Child

Monday's child is full of yawn
When he feels the coming dawn.
The alarm goes off, he shambles there
To turn it off (and does not swear).

The morning is filled with events strange
As the dreamland drifts away its range
And the eyes begin to slowly see
The waking life that's in front of he.

And Monday's child's wife is always there
To show Monday's child that she will care.
If something's the matter, she'll be there to fix it,
And if something's unmixed, she'll be there to mix it.

And though we don't enjoy the morn,
It's not Monday's fault. It's free of scorn.
But morning, or evening, or midafternoo',
I'm glad to spend any time with you.

Chalk Drawings

We draw lines upon the plane,
And wish and pray it doesn't rain.
And our designs, there they rest
On the porch's ground, they do attest.

They do attest many things:
How bees fly by, how cats are king,
How with the colors, red and blue
We can say such things as "I love you."

And we can draw portraits,
If if they're not exact,
There's no law stating such
yet to enact.

And when we're done,
We know we didn't fail.
Though, I hope to fulfill
The prophecy of the rail.

Work on a Weekend!?

It's not fair, sometimes,
That I find myself at work
On a pleasant day like this.
Please don't think me a jerk.

If only I could work at time
When it was not our part of day
And still be able to rack up hours
And still get the extra pay.

It's not fair to you,
As our weekends are so short
(So short that by the time you've looked starboard,
You've already seen port).

So, I suppose, the simplest
Solution would be
For me to find a geneticist
And make a clone of me.

Friday, Redux

I know I repeat myself
Just about every week,
But when Friday rolls around,
Life seems less bleak.

I get to spend
Two whole days
In the best of company,
In the best of ways.

They say that "all good things
Must come to an end."
But the bad things are finite too
My friend.

Yet no matter what,
When the week is through,
I know I'm spending my weekend
With you.

Alone

When I can't be there in person,
It makes me feel like quite a heel.
I know you need me there sometimes,
I know just how you feel.

I suppose in spirit, I can be with you,
And also I'm there in drawing,
But when I'm not there in person,
The yearning gains a gnawing.

The same it is for me, you know,
When I'm without my you.
I always spend 9+ hours of day
In an amberless, blue hue.

I am glad that at the end of each day
I may come home and be with the one I love.
For these things I hold so dear,
And against all other things, they go above.

Mornings and Evenings

Which is better? Time in the morning
Or time in the evening?
In the morning, there's no sun.
Neither is there at night.

In the evening, we're both tired;
But that's true too for the morning.
We could stay up late, or rise early,
And either way, we'd shamble around like the sleepy undead.

But when would be the best time to spend together,
As the mornings are bad and the evenings are bad
And I'm working the rest of the time
And sleeping the other?

I suppose, though, that time spent with you
Is better that time spent away.
So, let's stay up late, rise early,
And just be tired, together, each day.

The Dragon and the Elephant

Pinky and Petunia went walking to the shore,
And then decided that it wasn't such a bore.
For they found grand adventure, both on land and at sea,
Or at least as much as grand adventure as such things can be.

The elephant and dragon looked on, into the dusky dark
And saw that the shore led off into a grassy park.
This park, it seemed, held a lot of interesting things,
Like sea saws and jackadaws and slides and sleds, and even, well, swings.

Pinky swung and Petunia pushed,
And Pinky jumped off, but was (thankfully) cushed.
And when it was Petunia's turn to ride,
She jumped off, and then she flied.

The dragon and the elephant were never ones to bunk,
And so they cleaned up after themselves with wings and hands and trunk.
And at the end of the night, as the morning sun arose
They went ahead and followed what they followed best: Pinky's lengthy nose.

I Can Has a Day?

Again, again, it's Monday again!
The day of the Moon, the head of the seven!
The first day it is, or maybe the second,
Or the day after a holiday, so it's been reckoned.

If only the fates would be kind enough
To add an extra day (please don't rebuff!).
We'd need a day between Sunday and Monday,
And it could be called anything, as long as it was a fun day.

Following our pattern, It could be Aegirday
(Though I suppose others would call it Eagerday),
Or if shunning Norse, maybe it could be Neptuneday
(Though that's a mouthful, no matter how you'd say).

Nevertheless, those who write the week,
Please give me an eigth day, for seven is bleak!
I find that I don't get enough time
To spend with that wonderful wife of mine.

Crowd

"This room is too crowded,"
I'm known to say.
"Can't we come back
On another day?"

I barely can move,
My elbows are touching
The things in the hands
That others are clutching.

"Just point me to the table,
That has the gift bag."
If this were online,
It'd be lag, lag, lag...

But, hey, it's not so bad.
It really could be worse:
Instead of being in a crowded room with you...
I could be alone in a hearse.

Flutter By

Flitter, flutter, flying by.
Is is a bird, a bat, a fly?
It flaps its wings, and buzzes past.
Whatever it is, it sure goes fast!

A little trail of sparkling dust
It leaves behind with winged gust.
And the glitter lands upon the floor,
The ceiling, the walls, and on the door.

Little wings flap, and make a buzz,
And then it's no longer where it was.
Where did it go? I cannot tell.
All I can hear is a ringing bell.

This flittering thing, it will not
Leave me alone so that I may jot
About other things, like heart or dove,
Or about being so deeply in love.

Week End!

Whether the weather's bad
Or if it's good,
It's always as it is,
Or it should.

The end of the week
Marks a weekend,
And much like a mouse with cheese,
Makes me a squeakend.

I enjoy these times,
These days two (or three)
In which I have
Only one responsibility.

My weekend is yours
As much as it's mine.
And no matter how long,
It's always JUST FINE.

Birdie

In the still morning, the birds will sing
About their lives, in the form of song.
And these songs carry the weight of their
Burdens as they flutter about, along.

But what burden has a bird, when it
Really comes down to the line?
They have food, and air, and water,
And, I think, they're doing fine.

I suppose being a bird is a good thing:
If you're a bird, you're free,
And every single open passageway becomes
A window of opportunity.

When a bird flies through a window
And into the wide, wide world,
She can catch a ride on the wind
With her wings unfurled.

And my little birdie, I don't keep
Inside a gilded cage,or weight to the ground
For I want her to fly as high as she can
Without any sort of bound.

Sudsy Buds

Soaking suds are never duds
When soaking seems succinct.
I've never met a budless sud
From the bath tub to the sink.

The buds of suds are soaking now
And they all just bubble up,
Until they reach the light-lit ceil,
Or land, or even drop.

The sudsy buds, they do not fear
For their buds are never far.
Whether here or there, they always know,
Their budsy sud's a star.

A team, it seems, in water warm
Synchronized swimming is the game
And maybe tomorrow the sudsy buds
Will simply do the same.

Journeys

We can go anywhere,
Together in this car.
When we hit the road
We'll never see the end.

I'd like to go anywhere
Together with my love.
I always find that when we're together,
I never need to be alone.

These trips we take,
They're always unique,
Though we sometimes go places we've been before.
The journey is what counts.

How many miles are there left to go?
Then I realize with a start:
However many miles there are left to go takes
Half the time I'd like to spend with you.

Free me from Fees!

A fee for this, and a due for that.
Is it any wonder we're never fat?
A nickle here, a dime over there,
And just for good measure: a quarter to spare.

"Since when did we get a subscription to this?"
Unfortunately, no payments we miss.
For there is a web of lies, says my intuition,
When I see the statement for the college tuition.

They collect all our money, and then a little more,
And then send us another bill, to even the score.
You can't put a price on education; still,
No matter how much you can't, try they will!

But I don't mind working the late hours,
Never seeing sun, or birds, or flowers.
As long as, at the end of the day,
I get to see you, I don't mind the pay.

The Dawn

A brand new day when comes the dawn
Should wash away the troubles gone.
But a brand new day, such isn't the case
When the feeling remain, securely placed.

These feelings, secure, are far from placid,
And daily they'll burn like caustic acid.
They must be addressed with the baser ways,
Such as apologies, and love, and praise.

And the pH, it goes, will return to neut.,
For such a balance is found to be good.
It's not sour, nor is it bitter,
Nor will it be known as a splitter.

The clouds may mar a perfect sky,
But clouds cover the blue with a lie.
So as the sun arises today anew,
So arises new me for the same sweet you.

The Way of Self

The way of self will never do
When trying to be more close to you.
The way of self is at times quite foul
And does not deserve even a scowl.

For any emotion, it would seem,
Would be rewarding the WOS more than is need.
For the way of self should be left alone,
Free of praise, or wrath, or scorn.

The way of self, it is superfluous,
And its actions made are quite gratuitous.
It should be cut from the side
And buried deep within the earth, inside.

And such is gone, and such is not needed,
It's food cut off, never to be feeded.
It is not needed, and should go away.
Selfish self, return on a never day.

For You, I Will

Whether it's simple or quite a chore,
I'd like you to know that for you, it's never a bore.
I'd tan leather just to make you smile,
Or change the weather every once in a while.

Ever would I wish no harm upon a hair
Upon your head, or either use a scissor there.
And I hate to leave you alone, and I'd take you hither
If I could, and at the end of the day, I'd take you thither.

I find your company a delight, in fact a pleasure
And always what you say is a joy, a treasure.
Always to you, I'd like to be a giver
Of the joys of life (and I'd like you to be a liver).

Fate has a way to tell us each
About those things that life must teach.
How always, we do not pick how things will end
Responsible we are for those with whom we Spend.

A Pix' Named Blue

When the pixie dust, it fails to work,
Well, I bet you feel like the world's a jerk
And that you have nothing else to do
But to suffer through.

And all day long, you're singin' a song
About how the pixies just don't get along
And that if you were paying for a service,
You just might sue.

What can you do?
Please, don't be blue!

So you tried again in the early morning,
Hoping to avoid a reason for scorning
Every little person making
Pixie dust.

And all hope was lost when you hit the page
(And almost hit the wall in rage)
As it still hung there,
Loading rust.

And then you're through!
No status new.

But then, all of a sudden, in a bit of luck
You tried again, and it didn't suck.
Now you could fly
through pixie land.

And everything was fine as you went along,
Hoppin', and skippin', and singin' a song
About the time your pixie
Went and flew.