There are those days when words can flow
And rhymes not far behind them.
They are like the ice that melts
On the mountains, over the din.
They blend themselves like pork and beans
And mashed potatoes, with gravy flowing.
It's then I grab my pen and paper
And scribble down their morning offering.
Blessings my friend,
Christine
Love ya!
Jane
Sandie
budd