'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all;
But, like the Ghost at Pentecost,
True love stays when it comes to call.
Of all sad words of tongue or pen
The saddest are these: "It might have been!"
For us the saddest words are not:
What might have been has been a lot!

I love and hate to see her when she cries:
It breaks my heart like a pane of stained glass.
But having washed the windows of her eyes,
I better see her soul's amazing grace.  
And seeing me through wet-washed window panes,
She better sees my faithful love for her.
So all her tears (that fall like summer rains)
Reveal us heart and soul and make us sure.
Thanks be to God for tender-hearted tears
That speak a deeper truth than truthful words.
Though truthful words are health to hearing ears,
Tears speak the truth that yokes us, two lovebirds.
Thanks be to God for truth that's so conveyed.  
She's fearfully and wonderfully made.

My favorite gifts were all from Christ the Lord:
The midnight Scrabble game where U and I
Were side by side and face to face and high
On Christmas Spirit, cherishing the Word;
That great game of Oahu that I won;
That great game of Oahu that I lost;
The time I spent pretending to be Frost
Seeking a rime and landing on a pun;
The yummy apple pie perfectly baked,
Second to  ̶M̶a̶r̶t̶h̶a̶ ̶S̶t̶e̶w̶a̶r̶t̶'̶s̶  none, and made with TLC;
The morning coffee brought to me at 3
P.M. by her who kissed me as I waked.
My favorite gifts have everything to do
With, Bethany Elvira Vitters, you!

It's Friday night, and we're snug in a bed
     With bedding that's very thready.
The weekend is ours, but I think of work
     On Monday, and I miss you already.

From out of the depths
of a sea of tea and soup
comes a gaseous gurgling
glugging of bubbles
gluggulous enough
to sink a ship of ****,
as though Leviathan lived
in my sweetheart's belly,
passing monster gas.

Alvina

There once was a gal named Alvina
Who lived in a shoe in Regina.
     She wanted some tea
     That was straight from the tree,
So she shoveled a tunnel to China.


Moana

There once was a gal from Iona
Who gave to a fella a bona.
     They met waist to waist
     In a manner unchaste,
And he made her a moana and groana.

At Volta Lake
we've left the stench
of human love
on breeze and bench
(me and my sweet
sour saucy *****)

where faces up
the mountain man
who's natively
American,
and not, in fact,
an Indian.