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  Apr 2016 Mary Winslow
PJ Poesy
She served milk toast on Sunday
She served milk toast on Monday
Milk toast is what you might guess
Milk on toast with sugar and cinnamon
That is all
She served milk toast on Tuesday
That is all
Four of the five complained
She served milk toast on Wednesday
All but one cried, “We hate milk toast!”
She served milk toast on Thursday with tears in her eyes
The littlest one saw his mother’s streaming salty fluid
He said, “Momma, I love milk toast.”
The streams turned into raging rivers
Amongst all the wetness came odd quirks of laughter
Momma mustered everything she could
Next thing out was, ”I’m taking that job Dean”
What could Dad say while he sopped up his milk toast?
That is when Momma went to work for the phone company
They never ate milk toast again
Some days you had no cinnamon.
Fresh cut grass and nesting Brown thrashers , coffee brings fuming passion mixed with a smile , a needed level of quiet reflection
Ceiling fans stir the tempered night air , eight -
o'clock on the tiles with eventide fragrant wealth
and good company ...
Copyright April 17 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
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