love in the forenoon

Love in the forenoon

It was a struggle, a poem insisted on giving birth
I refused and insisted on abortion, as I no longer write
poetry, when she stood in the doorway of my
study, asked what I thought of her hair she had
had colored the hair dark, but not shiny black
I said the nice things one says concerning hair  
She was going into the kitchen to make toasts
I joined her, and at 80, she is still wonderful age has
not made her grumpy or lose pride in her looks
never mind the stillborn poem I have written
enough second-hand stuff to last a lifetime
now, the time is for a simple life, smiles, and tea.