Love's tradition.

On the misty moors at night
When my love rides out of sight
I light a candle on the sill,
To guide him homeward, Please God's will.
The moors are rife with hidden traps
And death on silent black wings flaps.
O'er the moors, but love can see.
My candle calls, "Home, to me."

Dressing up

She wears clear neon jelly bracelets
And pastel plastic barrettes,
Borrowed from her older sister's past.
A dress from when her mom was younger
Puddles around her feet
Which slip around in high heeled shoes
No one wants anymore.
Cast offs, sad and unloved,
Until a child's imagination
Makes them fit for a princess.

A poem about onions.

Oh my spicy sweet onion child,
I love your crazy ways.
And yes I'd rather have you than
A strawberry parfait,
'Cause parfaits are kind of boring
When compared with your complexity.
Oh baby, it's all those layers.
Mmm! So sexy!
Sometimes your sauteed sweet and golden,
Sometimes your fresh, crisp and strong,
But anyway your served up darling,
I could eat you all day long!