Stop in the Name of Love, I Mean It!

Hang up now! Young love used all our shared rollover minutes. Love is a many-splendored and text-messaged thing, a personally-toned ring, and a definite zing. But now it is time for Danger Baby to dip his quill pen in the ink well, and write a poem in his best penmanship to his beloved, then fold it neatly and mail it at the post office. Maybe his brother, the Woolly Mammoth, will have enough cell phone minutes to straighten out his Albuquerque utility bill. (Try saying "Albuquerque utilities" three times fast.)

Love is a many-splendored thing,
It's the April rose that only grows in the early spring,
Love is nature's way of giving a reason to be living,
The golden crown that makes a man a king.
Lost on a high and windy hill,
In the morning mist two lovers kissed and the world stood still,
When our fingers touch my silent heart has taught us how to sing,
Yes, true love's a many-splendored thing.

I just made a Supremes collage. I wish I'd glued a Nokia in each gloved hand. Is it possible to text-message wearing full-length gloves?

© 2007 Nancy L. Ruder

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