Now is the bubble of our discontent.
One summer in New York; glorious!
Clouds lower, and I’m near the ocean,
head deeply buried in her bosom.
Touching, steam circling like wreaths,
a monument to our “married” meetings.
Delightful marches,dreadfully measured.
Fear your foes!
**Apologies to the Bard
© Walter J. Wojtanik – 2016