Barefoot Writer!

To look at her, barefoot, right there, No writer would she seem And yet she wrote without a care, As if within a dream... The poems came quite frequently, She turned another page, Another title came to be, Then came the writing stage... I wondered how she wrote so fast, Like she was some machine, Yet never did she look downcast, For she was always keen... She only stopped for coffee breaks, Which she drank all alone, With no friends and yet no heartaches, No lovers on the phone... Behind the counter, I worked on, While she sat down all day, Until my working time had gone, Then she went on her way... But something deep inside of me, Caused me to follow soon, To ask about her poetry, Or tales set to a tune... And when we talked, I fell in love, My soulmate I had found, Barefoot and yet for me enough, For her beliefs were sound... I placed new shoes upon her feet And on one knee proposed, Since then she's made my life complete, For she loves me the most... Denis Martindale July 2016.