The 12th
Your mama will not
See you wed in
June out 'Frisco way.

She'd see you dead in
Heaven first
And buried in the bay.

Her God and preachers
Have writ a law
That should you choose
To "tell"

She'd have to write you
Off as gone
Or burn herself in hell.

She prods and asks for
You to say what
You and "Roomie"
Do in dark of night
Without a light.

Oh, if only the dear
Woman knew!

She'd be without a
Darling daughter
You'd be without a mother
Roomie'd be the demon
Swift and hard
Who led the lamb to
Slaughter.

We'll buy you roses,
Read your poems
And share the
Day with you
And pray the joy
You and Roomie find
Upon the 12th of June
Will see you through
The disguises you wear,
To keep mama from
Facing the truth.

Mama's a gentle woman
With a smile as sweet
As God's own bosom be.

Her heart's a treasure!
Few can boast
Of the dedication so
Obvious to see.

I wonder if she's asked
Herself
The question most evident to
Me.

"How's the preacher know
What God really sees,
When he looks at
You and me?"

We'll provide the host
And drink the toast
To yours & Roomie's love,
And wish your mama
Could have seen the grace
In truly committed
Lesbian love.

Happy Joining, My Friends!