"M.E. + Mary Ellen"
Like my mother and I were, M.E. is powerfully frail.
Spring for birth's morning.
Winter for death's night.
All the joy turned to mourning.
Morning for winter, summer, spring, and fall.
I met her several summers ago outside Aroma soliciting business on a chair at a desk.
I talked with her about recording opinions about clouds.
She was full of correct opinions.
Until I thought they were facts.
She catches stars with a butterfly net and the breezes with a fishing one.
D.C. is her second home, Spain her third, although for now, this is her home.
M.E. is as sweet and delectable as her blond hair and blue eyes are to others.
She loves the children and they love her.
Chocolate milk cooled to their satisfaction's delightful tastes.
She's a spoiler.
M.E. somehow spoils others to childish silliness.
She strikes me just so!
I should know.
The world loves her steady flow.
J. Billet's
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