Surpassing Limits

Poem By RoseAnn V. Shawiak

I be awerkin' at fixin' dinner,
and my man, he be awerkin' in the fields,
and well, I just startin' inta dreamin'
'bout me a-dancin' in Paris.

I be wearin' sparkly shoes with high, skinny
heels, and one o' them slinky gowns. I'm a-drinkin'
that bubbly stuff outin' a one-legged glass.
Lotsa good-lookin' men be astin' me ta dance.

Then my man comes home, clumpin' in muddy
boots, his shirt and pants dirty and dusty.
He be a mess! Ceptin' his eyes-they be warm
'n brown like new-plowed fields, and his voice
be like a river a-flowin', so deep and smooth.
'Dinner ready yet, sugar bun? '

His hand touches my hair right gentle-
like the breeze of a summer night a-mussin'
the leaves o' the willer tree. 'Long about then,
my heart feels like velvet cushins be a-pressin'
agin' it. Well, I startin' inta thinkin'...
who wants ta be dancin' in Paris anyhow?

Comments about Surpassing Limits

Warm, captivating, and very original. Just lovely in every way, Mary. Always your friend, Sandra
To be content with the real wealth around you.Great Message.Love Duncan
This is a brilliant poem woderfully written in a local dialect, that adds to its poetic justice, loved it, Charlie.


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