It’s not often that she likes my stuff

Maybe one poem a season

Four poems a year

It’s enough to break me down

It’s enough to get me drunk

until she tells me I’m a fool

Which is enough to bring me back

In the Winter

Summer

In the Spring time like a flower

And by Autumns moon

With the goblins and the ghouls

She dances

like a dog on ice

And tells me my head looks big

when I get too thin…

So for that, I know

I can trust her