Ode to LoveIn a park she sits, her hands crossed across, But she has to rest them over her stomach. Her eyes have a gloss as the playground kids toss A yellow ball back and forth.Ode to Love
Her shoes don’t quite match her dress, But I’ll forgive the fashion faux pas: I’d put forth a guess and properly assess, She hasn’t seen her shoes in months.
A man sets down his bag and sits to her right And begins to scoot ever-closer. He’s within her sight and her smile is bright As his hand contours her stomach.
“The baby’s coming along so well,” He says, his silly grin never
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Color my world, and I'll document the process.
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