Wednesday, June 27, 2007

Almost Poetry

We spoke of sun and sand and sea
Of trying to find purpose and life and honesty

He said he liked beaches and mountains and rum
Didn't understand those who didn't like fun

I said my two favorite things were flip flops and freedom
He agreed, I could barely believe him

He said he loved family and together and friends
I loved hearing that so much I wanted to dance

We laughed and mused well into the night
Shared made-up fantasies of catching the next flight

He believed in hard work, always knew it would pay
I nodded my head so much he asked if I was okay

He told jokes and grinned, turns out he wasn't so shy
I couldn't tell if he was nervous, I laughed until I cried

It all seemed so perfect, no keeping score
And it could have worked out, if he wasn't seventy-four

15 comments:

singleton said...

Oh, there's hope then! If the perfect guy made it to 74 without being tainted, there's gotta be another one behind him somewhere! :)

Dawn said...

How cute was that?!!

Bre said...

There's no almost about it!

Also, this post was so ridiculous adorable that I'm still smiling! :)

brookem said...

this was great! and so cute.

Barbara Bruederlin said...

Well thanks for making me snort water out my nose at that last stanza! I'm just grateful I wasn't eating carrots at the time.

brandy said...

I LOVED this! (I think you might have been talking to my grandpop!)

GirlGoyle said...

Is that how long it takes for a man to mature and realize what life is about? They do say men mature slower than women but...74 might be a bit too long. :) That was great!

Danielle said...

Ah, that's sad if that's all that is left that is decent!

e.b. said...

you crack my shit up! that was wonderful - i was looking to buy gifts off your registry!

sue said...

Perfect!

justacoolcat said...

Yes!

You should have asked for his family tree.

afuntanilla said...

pretty neat, gir!

Kate said...

lmao. isn't that always the way?

Nicole said...

So cute. Maybe he can be your adoptive grandpa!

runliarun said...

Precious. It's already poetry, not almost. I loved the friends/dance rhyme. It's hard to remember sometimes that everybody is born at a certain time for a certain reason.