The morning is frosty; the air so chill.
But, ’tisn’t winter that makes my heart still.
As I lay warming in blankets’ embrace,
One thing will get me to leave this soft place.
Hark! Hear the fragrant beau’s noisy approach:
He squeaks as he rolls his big, stinky coach!
I rush down the stairs; I dress for outside.
I must get there soon! I lengthen my stride.
Quickly now! Line up the cans by the road!
They ought to be decent, for their bethrothed.
He’s nearly here -at the end of the street.
I’ve made my offer and now must retreat.
Back inside for me, still in my p.j.’s
Till we meet, my love, in seven more days.
clever!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks! 😀
LikeLike