He wanted one poem to plop down in his lap,
Contented and revealing within the first draft;
It's phrases weaned...lines well proportioned,
.....a poem like that seldom walks in the door.
We need to talk. she said.
Odd timing, he said, I'm writing.
No, I mean it, she said.
O.K., just a minute,
.. a wildflower steals under yon fence row,
poignant, the shy hues of parting glances,
Is your heart in this? she asked.