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!

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.

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.

'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!

The Sun has gone to summer up the south,
Leaving a fading shadow of his light.
A cold begins to spread by word of mouth
As Jack Frost comes to nip the nose of Night.
September swells the gourd; the squirrel's brown nuts
Are resting on a chin of pinion pine.
A golfer wears a sweater while she putts
Around her garden, tipsily tipping wine.
The seasons change in both the hemispheres:
The tidal oscillation, back and forth,
That rolls the wheel of time through rolling years,
Is bringing winter back to freeze the north.
All seasons change, except within my heart:
The summer of my love will not depart.

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.

My Lord, who's God, who's Jesus Christ, has blessed
My undeserving life with gifts the best:
He's given me a heart that's full of love
Where nests and rests the Holy Spirit's dove;
A quickened mind enlightened to perceive
The sacred Truth the justified believe;
Affections righteous, pure, and undefiled;
A saintly innocence that's meek and mild;
A soul that comprehends the Living Word;
The sweetest angel voice I've ever heard;
Two eyes that far outshine the summer sun;
A better half that makes a better one;
A faithful spirit honest, good, and true:
He gave me these when, Bev, He gave me you.

I love you
more than the moon flower
loves the brightest
super moon.

I love you
more than the June bug
loves the longest
day in June.

I love you
more than the bluebird
loves the bluest
afternoon.

I love you, rack to crack,
to the moon and back.

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.

I love you so much.
I love to touch
You, day and night,
Where the bedbugs bite.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
The earth is flat,
And I'm—achoo!—
In love with you.

Lemuel's mother hen would have some doubts,
Serious, nagging doubts, concerning you;
And I have mine, as big as brussels sprouts;
I have to air them out.  I've got a few.
The food you bring does not come from afar:
It comes from down the street a couple blocks.
Your arms are weak, too weak to push a car:
You couldn't even wrestle down an ox.  
You don't get up before the crack of dawn
To make me bacon, eggs, and cream of wheat;
Your candle's out before your final yawn;
And idleness's bread I've seen you eat.
But, nonetheless, I'd bet the family jewels
That you're worth more than rubies finely cut;
And I, who've been the poorest king of fools,
By having you, is richer than was Tut.
And if, between us, one of us is left
And one is taken, I'll be left bereft.