The Picnic
Warm weather comes on the cusp of winter
High green grasses borrow soil for the season
To fill in every inch of lands pervasiveness
Stretched fields of new born flowers
Hide by tall trees for a while blossoming
Sun dances in the sky of Spring
A picnic is the perfect thing to bring a smile
I pack up sandwiches and…..
Must not forget the misses
We bring our own ants in a cardboard box
On the chance there aren't enough out there
A white thick blanket is a necessity
Dark red wine to spill on it if things go right
A mischievous kiss placed by chance
After all we came to drink and play
There is the possibility of rain
We thank God for sandwiches and ants
For over hanging trees for our umbrella mysteries
High grasses will be our brake
If we should fall
In love or on the blanket by mistake
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