My wife was travelling today, St. Patrick's Day,
The 17th of March--a day when Irishmen play.
Coming from Louisville, with a stop in St. Louis,
A thunderstorm delayed her, the lightning sent to fool us.
So she made it to Lindberg Field, and there she sat,
Two hours and more on the tarmac--ambition runs flat.
I fully expect her to make it here to KC,
In four more hours, I expect awakeness from my eyes to flee.
The possibility certainly exists that she won't make it here,
Why let thoughts creep forward to instill fear?
If the Lord takes her home, however, to Heaven to repair,
She will have a tough time being my good wife there.
Over the miles and the centuries, many men have lost their wife,
Childbirth, illness, and accidents are just some of the ways to lose your life.
Nori should be here soon from where she did roam,
But, if not......she will still be 3 fourths home.
I met her in '67--upstairs at the Ottawa University Union,
45 years ago; she's been an excellent wife, what a reunion.
So you see, she'll never be fully gone from me,
Dear Lord, Bring her home--Tis my St. Patrick's Day plea.
(written 3/17/12, typed 4/17/12 Ottawa, Ks Dave Hale, hale-agency.com)
Dave likes to put together words to make poems. Sometimes the rhythms are great and sometimes they are a stretch. Either way they will make you think, make you laugh, make you wonder what's going on with Dave. :)