An Ode to The Husband...

As sung to the tune of Lullaby and Goodnight...

Grab your man, hold him tight, let him get right inside you,

Let him love you, hold him closely,

Never ever let him go.

Cup his buns, rub his back, put his face in your lap,

Really tease, never leave,

Let him give you a smack.

For through God, you are here, fate has brought you together,

So enjoy him, be so grateful,

Let your bodies be as one.

All the kids are asleep, there is no one to punch,

You have finally cleaned all the crumbs up from lunch.

So get nude, maybe crude,

It's your God-given blessing,

Don some lace now,

Pick your place now,

And remember you're his Wife.

The Predictable Passage

I discovered the newspaper later in life,

At aged thirty-one with children and strife.

Examining pages, still young squinted eyes

I scoured the stories, a mother disguised.

The children slept soundly, nap time as my gift

I smoothed every section, sniffed ink on my shift.

Soon Hubby would be here, his meetings cut short,

I ripped through my reading, all he'd want is sport.

The neighbor knocks now as I'm just getting on

to advice and reviews of some new favorite songs.

The baby is stirring, I hear him above,

A daughter soon after, I'm chained now by Love.

I can't read the paper, can't sit all I like,

But I'll try again later as tykes drive their trikes,

From the driveway, I'll watch them, their circular turns,

Hoping no one tips over, Weekend section in hand.

For though they're both fleeting - the Children and Post -

I'm determined to cherish and just make the most

Of the time I have left before both have expired,

When cold in a cave, Macs can't start a fire.

And what if, in years, a grandchild's dog,

No newsprint for piddles or, heavens, a log.

But such is the passage inevitably,

There isn't an option, no stopping you'll see.

So cherish the changing, embrace the near past,

Newspapers and Children age terribly fast.

The Crow

The black crow flaps above me,

Trailing my troubled mind,

Leering, luring, teasing, tempting,

Pecking me from behind.

Whence forth he came,

I'm not so sure the moment or the time;

But in black swept and has been yet

Fitting the scene of the crime.

Yet, one point long ago

I fought the crow off with my bow.

I drew it back and fired

And with strength, I let it go.

And though I did not pierce him straight,

I gave him such a fright,

He faltered and he faded

And bled into the ebony night.

But as the years have left me now,

The Crow, he has returned.

An albatross I cannot shed,

A lesson I have not learned.

And lo, I ponder with what ease

Accepting the dark may come,

A thoughtless choice so frightening,

As a feathered wing blocking the sun.

Yet, I know the crow can be thwarted

And have seen others stand in their field.

With clanging drums and steely eyes,

Their stronghold without yield.

I long to be that scarecrow

Whose peaceable force will not sway.

Alas, I grow so frightened

That I oft feel dismay.

But when I glance behind me now

And see your own dark wretch,

I reach my hand and out comes yours

And gently, they both catch.

We are faster. We can fight

United our avian foes.

With brightness ahead of us, lighting the way,

Together we battle the crows.