Fondly are my thoughts disposed when pondering my lady.
Ambling down the trail with her astride through pathways shady
Really is quite splendid, for I know she loves me madly.
Most any day that's spent with her is one that I live gladly.
When we meet in morning dew she comes, a-bearing hay,
I welcome her with brayful song at dawn of each new day.
Friendly nuzzles I do give, she hugs and scratches me.
Every mule deserves some love like that of her for me.
I would keep going, for that's barely the beginning, but I've used up F and A, R and M, W and I, F and E. If I had called her FarmWife, Queen of Bent Barrow Farm, I could have made my poem longer. Ah, well, we're short on time anyway.
Have a great day, beloved readers. One day I will write a poem for YOU.
Love,
Fen
FarmWife is so lucky to have you, Fenway!
ReplyDeleteOh Fenway - that was beautiful!!
ReplyDeleteFenway, it's a good thing you spelled it out for me, because I didn't see you had spelled it out.
ReplyDeleteObviously, I must retire (to bed).
Yours in Muleness!
Bif and Mother
iamboyfriend.com
Bif, be careful. I heard your own mother betrayed you. You mustn't write HER any poetry until you have negotiated the removal of your torture device.
ReplyDeleteBuddy, Sian—thank you. We are both, FarmWife and me, lucky.
FB