The Sleeper

This is what happens to people who fall asleep at my house. My son is napping while his nephews are busy wrapping cord around him. Here you see one of the Lillitputans reaching under the couch to wrap the continuing cord around the sleeping giant. Since he never reads my blog, I think I can get away with posting it. I'm sure he is tired after a weekend of fishing or hunting. Here is a poem I wrote for his 25th birthday:


Stevie,
Now you are twenty-five,
I do not know how you've survived.
The girls still think you are a hunk,
But they don't know about your junk.
They haven't seen the big brown truck,
Sticking in the muddy muck.
They haven't seen your stash of guns
Or the Little Debbie cinnamon buns.
They haven't seen your so called life
Sleeping with your hunting knife!
Pity she who marries you
When you try to find your shoe.
She will think that you're a louse
When you clutter up the house.
She won't need a trip to the woods,
Home will be enough, with all your “goods.”
She won't need a trip to the lake
'Cause taking care of you will make her break!
But something you need to know that will probably be true:
Your wife will like us better than she likes you.
In our cozy home she'll rest,
When your place has got her best.
Here among the roses and hearts
She'll enjoy our tea time tarts.
She won't want to go and face
The guns and poles in your place.
The life on the edge and power bait galore
Will send her here just to restore.
So when you wed, don't go too far
And be sure she has a car.
Or live next door so when she's too Stevie-ized
She can come and be civilized.
Love Mom, famous author and poet.

For more "Stevie-Stuff" check out these two posts over at The Pleasant Times.
http://thepleasanttimes.blogspot.com/2008/02/happy-birthday-stevie.html

http://thepleasanttimes.blogspot.com/search/label/poetry