I decided I'd give my #67 a Christmas gift -- a book of my poetry and short stories. I'm really nervous about it because I do like him. I hope he doesn't find it creepy. I changed around the poem #67:
A walk by the window, my sixty-seven,
with football in hand, iPod in ear;
it must be like a blissful heaven--
oblivious to the world, when I am near.
Alas, like a flower in bloom,
new, fresh to the touch, I hold you--
the heavens sing joyful hymns and booms;
however, I still feel ever so blue.
Yet, your eye flickers my way,
in the hustle and bustle of a crowd,
sidelined, an injury delays--
a wave spotted among the fury and sound.
Football in hand, the minute strikes eleven,
a possible victory, how I long for sixty-seven.