I'm actually not too sure
whether she was an, "old soul",
or I was an immature one.

The complete, bottom line was,
that we were both, "ageless"
while we were, together.

I was exactly twenty years, her senior,
but, that didn't really seem to matter.
We were merely, "happy" we were together.

There was this one thing, though
and, I didn't really ever factor it in;
but, whether or not...we always got along didn't matter;

THE BRICK sonnet
The Wee Elf wants this mundane, "LIke a Brick".
My heart sinks, should I give my muse a rest?
Can mundane still be novel? That's some trick.
It's not just words in poems that may get stressed.
Although I'm slow, I'll try to write them down-
Those lines that flow unbidden from my gob,
I'll try to get them bouncing, metric, sound
If really good give up my daytime job.
Here in my hand I hold two common bricks,
Their purpose, to be part of someone's home.

Lacking their integrity and,
credibility-less,

what can start as a summer rain
can leave one's heart, a mess.

It's taking quite a toll on me
and left my heart in disrepair,

it's really such an evil curse
this damned ability to care.

My own knowledge of some truths, of late
have hurt me to my "core",

it's so difficult to comprehend
folks I care for being so morally poor.

I received an accommodation
a "badge" of merit, if you will;

It's time I rake the leaves outside
so now I'll go and get the rake
at the insistence of my bride
and for propriety's sole sake

I'll rake leaves into small piles about
under the swing and old grape vine arbor
working beneath warm autumn sunshine
a yearly necessary labor

Soon wiping sweat from wrinkled brow
muscles loosened from the work
I survey a job well done
and get a drink of tea