The Serbian Professor

After parking the car early this AM,
Saw a young professor, decided to talk to him.
Knew he had a young son, asked of his age,
Said he was four, I decided to turn the page.

What's his name. I asked after asking how old,
The name he said I can't remember, but it means "marigold".
The black haired professor said his son's hair was sandy in color,
Nor bright red or yellow, just a little duller.

Oh, I forgot to mention-this professor is from Serbia,
Don't know if he was an urbanite or from suburbia.
Said he was from the capital, its name, Belgrade,
Maybe I'll visit it someday after my fortune is made.

You never know what's in your future-just play your cards,
I only walked with him a little while-maybe a hundred yards.
I could have kept quiet, but that's not my style,
Find someone to walk with, see if you can make him smile.

My wife doesn't like to do this, she's a little shyer,
She keeps folks more at a distance, like an Abercrombie buyer.
"Don't say anything!" I've heard her advice more than once,
She thinks I'll embarrass her and have others think I'm a dunce.

Why be silent and rob others of your thoughts?
Maybe your experience should be included in his oughts.
If you keep quiet and not let your thoughts flow,
The son of the Serbian professor, Marigold, you wouldn't know. 

Dave Hale Ottawa, Ks 1/20/12      620/245-5778    hale-agency.com