THE RAREST OF ALL RARE DELIGHTS
Summertime picnics on lush, green lawns;
Gray, quiet morning hours before the dawn.
Barefoot in a bright April shower,
Conversation to pass the idle hour.
Afternoons spent in a used bookshop,
Long, rambling walks to a distant hilltop.
Dark, stormy days in a pensive mood,
Fond memories recalled in solitude.
A book of verse and a glass of wine,
A silver pocket watch to tell the time.
Bottles of ink and parchment paper,
The busy clatter of a typewriter.
But the rarest of all rare delights
Is writing poetry by candlelight.