what kind of saturday is this?

an early morn visitation upon a friend and her family.

i got my coat and started driving there,

the sun was white and the leaves were curled brown

by wintering winds

and lost summer smiles;

'drove to the rutland red house; where--

a rainy roar echoed from some room,

but margaret in calico pajamas

smiling her smile

and tussling her hair,

said ann was in the shower; when--

out comes this pink turbaned turk,

with deep autumn eyes and flushing cheeks

warmed by her quiet smile

(a beauty to behold?)

who offered a morning cup of coffee; as--

she passed on by into the kitchen,

where her chocolate cake warmed the air

partially charred it was, with

wisps of smoke lingering by,

and she poured be the bottom of the pot; while--

up popped margaret's hot muffin,

with one going down for me,

warmed and tender and

deliciously sweet,

"why ann can cook" i cried; when--

mary came in looking all around,

as mr. william wondered about my car

parked too near

and parked too far,

with cup in hand, mary's like a clown; as--

ann stirred and whirred a frosting batch,

and dogs jumped up from the ground

biting my nose

and licking my lips,

while she frosted a mustache and searched for her tips; when--

we roared to store with hands high in the sky,

waving at the sun and air

feeling fast and free,

but please don't restrict me,

and listening to the music of our minds; while--

the morning passes through noon and 'that's life',

rushing all around, filling in time

not knowing with who

or knowing not to care,

sings sinatra with a smile, with a croon; when--

i wonder what kind of saturday this is,

for here stands ann with quiet beauty

just looking, just thinking

(and fool that i am?)

how can i leave with a touch and a word, but not a kiss!