the blues next door
They moved in today,
the two of them, a couple from a place unknown to me,
honeymooners I presumed but could not prove,
they had the look of freshly made domesticity.
He was dressed in brilliant blue,
as if he had snatched his finery from the sky itself,
a puff of rusty red upon his chest,
a quite dashing gentleman, almost dapper.
She was of subtler shades, classy hint of blue,
a frock of a lady would wear doing her household chores,
the pale and powdery blue of sun-drenched kitchen curtains,
a soft-spoken, quiet beauty, a lady love, indeed.
They were dressed in the something blue together,
the baby blue, the oh-so-true blue,
the blue suede shoes of young lovers at the sock hop dance,
a bluesy ballad meant for two.
Yes, they moved in today, the two of them,
bluebirds in the birdhouse my husband built just for them,
honeymooners I presumed, starting out in life as two,
as are we, in our cottage trimmed in blue.
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