Ninety-eight in the shade.
Frenzied for his lemonade
With great delight I take my place,
Savor his fruit, so sweet to my taste.
Forget this day some mermaid's coffee.
Let me rest at noon dreaming of Weeki Wachee.
Sunburnt I am, turning dark, but lovely.
Fair as the moon, clear as the sun, he loves me.
My sun-soaked 'hon' stands at the grill,
Flipping that others may get their fill,
Proclaims, "Behold, he stands behind our wall!
Shoo, you mite - you dare not stall!"
With barely a thought said mite steals weenies
Then races to see all the lovely bikinis.
Leaping he flies, a young stag, over grass parched -
A gazelle skipping on the lawn dry as starch.
"To love young, love seasoned," we raise rounded goblets.
He toasts to lips, lips "like a strand of scarlet,"
Says, "How beautiful are your feet in sandals.
Head to toe you eclipse the sun, earth's bright candle."
Barbara Butler McCoy
[[Photo: Umbrellas at Pool, as seen from St. Simons
Lighthouse; Barbara Butler McCoy; August, 2009]]
