In Poetic Form…
Originally posted on 20 Lines A Day:
I’m waiting for the lady that runs by
She’s always in her running shorts and top
She runs to where the purple asters lie
And then she has a breather and some pop.
She’ll go and catch her death of cold you know
‘Cos she runs every day, come rain or sun.
There’s some days when she didn’t ought to go
And others when it can’t be that much fun.
I’ve knitted her a little woolly vest
In stripes of pink and blue and white and green
I’ll take it over when she has her rest,
The gayest little jumper you have seen.
If she says ‘No’ and wrinkles up her nose,
I think she’ll soon be turning up her toes.