The poet

The poet
Don’t you know it
So many books to read
But I Don’t read books
bUt he does
And wheres that going to lead
I’m old she’s a lot younger
But who cares she is sweet
She doesnt read
She doesnt need
To read
And since we meet
And she chose a book
Naturally a book of Lovely verse
She repeated the first stanza
It was lovely When her purse
Fell out of her bag onto
The floor and from it she
Took a hankie wiped her face
And then looked up at me