Saturday, September 26, 2009

A Poem for Mrs. Bissage

Your soul is a . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . FISH.

My heart is a . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . FISH.

Your mind is a . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . FISH.

My spleen is a . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . FISH.

Our love is a . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . FISH.

2 comments:

Jason (the commenter) said...

Well a girl would be crazy to pass up a guy who likes fish.

Bissage said...

In recent days I have been adjusting my expectations downward.

Mrs. Bissage understands.