Uncle Jon shall add an “Aunt”
We hope that’s what they really
want.
For marriage is a harder thing
Than adorning fingers with well-meant
Rings.
I meant to post a happy piece,
A song for lovers, blooms and humming
Bees
But right now I feel a sorrow grow,
A hollow feel that most adults
know.
It settles in the belly low,
where elation sinks when life strips its
glow.
I am happy for the engaged new,
Yet sad for what I’m losing
too.
I will write a flowery piece the next,
But right now, my small mind is hexed,
with papers long and infant cries,
with poorly meted words, and awful rhymes.
It’s just that I cannot stop old Mr. Keats,
From affecting my words with notes of
Grief.
It means we’re old, old enough to marry,
And Time has stolen away from me, for youth, it does not
Tarry.
Pru
