Poetry

I Love You On Monday, Darling, 
And Picked Blueberries For You In My 
Fathers Backyard
On Tuesday, I Paced The Burst Of Fruit 
Inside A Wooden Box, 
Wrapped It 'Round With A Purple Ribbon And
Wished Upon A Star
Wednesday, We Savored The Berries 
Together On Your Shabby Back Porch, 
Drank Ice Tea And Watched The Frogs 
Hop-a-long Home
We Laughed All The Way To Thursday, 
Dear, 
You Never Looked More Lovely Than You 
Did That Afternoon 
I Love You On Friday, But a Storm Had
Rolled In, 
The Rain Came Down Hard; Your Heart 
Turned Stormy Too
By Saturday, The Fruit Was Rotting In The 
Yard, 
Sky Blue Juice Stains Had Washed From 
Our Fingers 
I Love You On Sunday, My Sweet, 
But You Were Already Gone; Now I Pick
Blueberries Alone
And I Wonder If They Will Ever Taste The As Sweet