Pink, Yellow and Green

by m.s.wardrip

A hand full of love,

A fragrance so sweet,

The shy blue tiny flowerettes,

Comfort and beauty meet.

Won’t you come and sit?

Here, by the shadowbox,

Weave a beautiful wreath,

With golden yellow locks.

The Bluebird flutters by,

The dusty trail to the swimming hole,

The kids run with their Summer laugh,

And their little fishing poles.

The old screen door slams shut,

The flies again, try and try,

In the window of the kitchen this morning,

Sits a fresh and pretty apple pie.

Hangs his hat on the hall tree,

Drops his boots by the front door,

Reads his prayer book after dinner,

Snuffs out the candle, in three minutes he snores.

What is current is fresh and right now,

Pastel calico fashion fabrics, Wow!

On the bias through the looking glass,

Widows sew and wait on tall ships.

Heartbreak, misery, pain and despair,

Stammering voice, dirty, messed up hair,

Raise the tone to him, don’t you dare,

You, the token woman wife, is why you’re there.

In the dark misty nights of red fantasy desire,

The deep eyed knight appears to you, on fire,

Snatching you off your feet to his stealing steed,

Both of you in need, he whisks you off, nevermore to be blue.

Take here ye the symbol of complete love,

The sugar-coated bouquet in a pure white glove,

Think nothing ever again of the cretin in the den,

Lace your leather lingerie, cinch your certain hot passion with firm sexy love.