Sloe Gin Of Autumn
It wasn't but a moment ago in time,
Of frost and dew...honeysuckle vines
And the slow gin of Autumn.
Days it rains, mainly on the plains,
In Savannah between songs of birds.
The thrill is still there.
Our first house and yellow balloons,
Gravel path and tea garden,
With a willow tree.
Grandchildren swinging on an old tire,
Lemonade treat in the heat
And band aids for their boo-boos.
The women's auxiliary, and bake sales
And screaming at Bingo...BINGO,
Facial glow of your beautiful smile.
Your golden hair with streaks of gray,
Eyes the emeralds, I kiss in your sleep,
As I lay you down, your scent seethes.
Of yesterdays tomorrow and sunsets,
Smiling in my thoughts of our youth,
In realization, best is yet to be.
In nearing of our diamond jubilee,
As leaves begin to fall and swirl,
My heart still flutters from your touch.
Roses with thorns and little red ants,
My aging mind, dementia plays
And you saving the last dance for me.
RSVP...my honey bunny,
Your picture I carry in my pocket,
Next to my memory.
Of frost and dew...honeysuckle vines,
Hearing your footsteps down the hall
And the sloe gin of Autumn.
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