LOVE LETTER TO MY WIFE

Seven golden butterflies dance in the sun outside my window,

each, perhaps, seeking an afternoon interlude,

while you, my love, concern yourself with cyber things,

and I fill my page with scribbling.

The history we share sometimes makes us speak in chorus,

some old movie line or phrase remembered from the past,

and makes us laugh. Is that love? Perhaps.

But, if I could, I would do for you my butterfly dance,

naked in the sun, bright and goldly shinning, I would woo,

and again would you choose me,

or would I be the lonely number seven?

THE       END