Soft was the bunny, pulled from his hat of tricks,
and soft were the marshmallows, we used to roast on sticks.
Soft was our wedding-gift-comforter, on our bed at night,
and soft were the vacation clouds, rolling out of sight.
Soft was the mud, through which our first dog did run,
and soft were the words my wife Emily spoke, when with our baby she had fun.
Soft was our Susie’s processional music, to my anxious ears,
and softly down the bride’s Mother’s cheeks, rolled warm soft tears.
Soft were my Love’s lips sixty years ago, when I first kissed them,
and softer still became my heart, the day the angels took up my Em.
(Dec.2012)
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