Under the canopy of the bower we sat,
She and I and a picnic lunch.
Soft music playing as wine we had,
I was floating in the air.
“It’s been too long,” she said with a smile,
As I remembered the first picnic like this.
Twas back in 55, on a beach at Waimea Bay,
We were young and innocent.
I brushed her hair, slowly and softly,
As we sat and grinned,
She and I, man and wife,
We did not have to sneak around.
The New Christie Minstrels, singers I liked,
Then began a lovely set.
I held her close as under the bower we danced,
Slowly and lovely as it used to be.
One knife and fork is all we had,
For that is the way we did it back then.
Share the plate and silverware too,
It went far to make us so close.
The steel gray clouds said it would rain,
As we laughed and our picnic ate.
Sharing our utensils and ourselves,
As again we were so close to each other.
I wondered if presumptuous of me it would have been,
As we snuggled under a tree,
While the rain did pour,
I wanted her so much more.
And when the rain did stop,
With cane and walker, we went back to the car.
Smiling and remembering this day,
Would we get more to come out and play?
By Tom (tomWYO@aol.com)
