Gratitude Poem by Robert Stoddard

Glancing past my meat filled fork,

over the shoulder of my sweet wife,

to this dinner two cars approach,

except hue, their make the same.



from silver's door, out steps this girl;

her floor length dress with its bright glow,

her fine grained hair, neat, wavy,

perhaps the reason for her stunning smile.

Though beautiful, her body escapes my mind.



I followed her hand to an upright man,

gracefully helping her out the door;

his neat short hair and handsom tux,

complementing his budding rose,

sung to all, he had a glorious prom.



From Crimson's door, out stepped a girl;

her legs both wept for men to look

and her chest need make no plead.

several hairs escaped her 'do'

to nearly hide her reddened ear.



on her hip laid a child's hand,

for his behaivor defiled his age;

he hides his face behind straight bangs

and wears a suit I'd never afford;

one to cheap to make his night.



Upon seeing my fork's long pause

my love had turned her head;

she spoke real soft of changing times

and gazed into my eyes.

Then, her hand in mine, with moon's soft light,

my wrinkled smile gave honest praise.

.