Ode To An Old Bag
Any time I need an errand run
I can count on the old bag.
Whether beer or bread or even milk
She's strong though now she sags.
I knew that when I first laid eyes
I'd never settle for less.
I pursued, pleaded, bargained, and now
For many years possess.
She may be getting worn with time
And straining when she works,
But on her I know I can rely.
The old bag never shirks.
And just to make it clear to all,
(On this I stake my life),
In French my bag is called "pannier".
It's not what I call my wife.
A bold and crafty literary move - a post titled "Ode To An Old Bag", containing a picture of your wife, with the disclaimer embedded in the poem. I hope she doesn't skim the post :-)
ReplyDeleteBlue Moon. Ouch.
(Ummm, BTW, I have twice as much beer as you.)
Nice poem, and funny. A little reworking and it could even be a formal sonnet.
ReplyDeleteTouche, Pat.
ReplyDelete