Beneath
the withered oaken tree
she stands
tendrils dripping
warm September rain.
The tryst
all but comical now
and he
approaching with his
makeshift thatch umbrella.
The scene unfolding . . .
he in leather soaked,
she in soggy denim,
a novel Romeo and Juliet
dappled in sooty charcoal
remnants of their wet and weepy
campfire gone awry
and bed of nosegays
now ~
a spongy pallet.
But love not lost to folly
yet revived by laughter
will prove, alas, to set
the tone for future
merry jaunts!
Joanne Cucinello 2007
( This was written in answer to a challenge
at Musemongers Motel, where certain words
had to be incorporated into your poem. )
