Like a picture not quit in focus,
I squint my eye's in disbelieve.
Is that you coming over the horizon?
Or is that the Indians and their chief?
Somehow I wish it was you,
cause looks like I am going in the stew.
I think, I need not worry though,
my true love will come to the rescue.
To my astonishment that was not true,
I see her handing out knives and forks.
I just don't believe my love, what do you do?
Crazy now she has Champaign, and a corkscrew.
Well it looks cut and dry,
I think I am going to cry.
I suppose that will not do,
there would be to much salt in the stew.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
That would never do, too much salt in DD's stew nice write love Lynda xx