
window wants to go somewhere/
where it doesn’t snow.
I found my Scriptures./
Now I have no more excuse,/
‘cuz that’s all it was.
Such a strange evening:/
Full moon, cow herd mooing, trucks/
moving, trains wooooooing.
If you leave Him due/
to sin and not doctrine, the/
return’s easier.
Oh, that Muse! Would that she/
would simply run away with me!/
We could together thus shun/
any hint of vile prostitution/
as we wrote each other poetry!/
The Giving Tree is/
not quite as old as me, but/
we are both happy.