Only Donald could
Kiss away a cloudy day
Missing you, my Love.
Only he could strum,
Noodle a folksy tune on the guitar
And make it mellow
As a Martin.
But wait, it was a Martin.
Only he as an ultimate raconteur,
Could spin a sidewinder, off-color
Yarn into a sage tidbit of local truth.
Oh, but the mule did fart
Only he holding court
Wears perfect pleated cowboy garb.
Always near a smile
Ready to snatch up
An ascot, a cravat, pocket square, or just a bandana.
His impish self, smiling through his fine sophisticated ways.
The Love of his life,
His home, his heart, his hearth
so courageously fragile a creature.
Only His domain, the porch of a country bakery,
Peopled with delight,
His Southern gentle smile testify to her beauty
A regal knight by everyone ‘s measure
Raconteur merely the start of describing