The
Woodcutter’s Chopper.
Sharon was
different now,
A woman in
all her glory,
Since the
time she lost
Her chopper,
and definitely since
That time
she gained her smile.
What good
was a chopper now?
The manliness
of Barry’s tool,
His woodcutters
chopper now gone
She could
smile as only a woman
Can. A sense
of freedom from
The endless
days of depression,
Of feelings
of angst and regret,
A whole
lifetime of sorrow,
Nearly all
had left her then,
When Barry
found her new
Tomorrow,
not one to borrow
But keep her
floating high.
Held as one
who’s tender,
Soft,
gentle, not so regimental,
Glowing with
the light of life,
Perhaps now,
even a wife?
Stitches heal
the wounds of time,
Some enchanted
romantic nature
Yet alive to
find and mind.
Bruised a
little by the apple
So obvious Barry’s
former life.
Gruelling days
in contemplation,
To be a
butterfly of nature,
Or stay as
the brute force
Of mans domination,
and all
The mental examination. Was
Sharon’s
task, too much to ask?
Upon the
table, she arose
To become
someone very able.
Laughter in
the face of hate,
Discrimination
and segregation,
Gone now far
away, some say,
To herald
how demand for
Choice has
altered even here
Her voice
and style. The deep
Tone of
Barry’s quest to know,
What happiness
changing this
Could ultimately
then bestow,
And field
the sweet release,
Sharon took
to live at peace.
Gobsmacked by
physique, the
High lines
and boobs, yes great
Big boobs,
hoorah…… Barry was
Gone when
Sharon came, and
Well, now
even the grooming,
Would never
ever be the same….
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