"Express it in Eight" Poems written mostly for me, for fun and for anyone who drops by. |
| He was almost twice her age, with sons nearing it, A widower with a farm and no wife, and she, a girl Four and twenty, plain but healthy, a girl who was Built like a plough-horse, not likely to die And leave him to raise children alone, a good match. December is a cold month to marry Fifteen years brought no warmer days When he died, she buried him with his first wife. Express It In Eight TOPIC - plough |