In this year of the ritual tribulations
two not one will have celebrations
7 years marks the spiritual birth
That finally gave life its worth
Then there was the visitation
that started this ritual sensation

I write this in the hand of Molded Green
Because the others pain has become routine
Not so much the emotional as you would think
But the physical that is often brought to the brink

So now that that is clearly explained
I will try to now keep you entertained

I went to the attic to get the boxes of Yore
Including the costumes You and He wore
When white beady eyes is what I saw

In my fright and haste to move away
Down the ladder my body did sway
With a bumpity bump and dipity doo
The box’s contents went all askew

There scattered all about the dusty ground
Were the memories that held me bound
Tears streamed down my little Green face
At the irony of them and the dust in place

You might think the tears were of remorse
But you would be wrong of course
When I looked at the floor of the garage
It made quite an exquisite collage

Everywhere a memory had landed
The dust had totally disbanded
Its as if they carried an aura of their own
Casting all away from their mighty throne

Realization came in rushing waves
Sending all doubt back to its caves

You see
As long as I can remember the holding of hands
Or the cuddling of bodies and releasing of glands
or Long soft kisses that fades into eternity
Then all I remember would be modernity

It is as alive now as it was those 7 years past
Because it is the strongest spell ever cast

Unconditional  Love