Did she choose
To wear
Those shoes,
With her legs bare
To the evening air?
Look and you will find
That her name
Is as old
As mankind.
‘Tis an ancient game
Played by the bold,
The strapped-for-cash,
The rash
And those who, perhaps just
Enjoy the game
Of lust.
Perchance it is the knowledge of his own dust
Which causes man to thrust
Into an empty vessel, where his tingles
Of lust
Commingles
With dust.
When a young lady dressed in pink
Said, with a knowing wink,
“You know my friend Lorna.
She works in a sauna”,
I said, “just plumb in this sink!”.
When a young lady dressed in red
Said, “please, get out of my bed!”,
I said, “this bed is mine.
You’ve drunk far to much wine!
Go back to your own blooming bed!”.
A gentleman will never tell.
Well,
If that is so,
I shall go
And compose
A poem about a rose,
Or a sweet peach,
Quite out of my reach.
Whilst swimming in the deep blue sea
I met a beautiful mermaid named Leigh.
She caused quite a commotion
When we left the ocean,
But my readers they don’t believe me!
When a young lady whose name is Hocking
Said, “have you seen my brand new stocking?”,
I said, “have you tried my double bed?,
Its comfortable, and perhaps you’ll find your stocking.
Whilst walking in the wintery weather
I met a young lady of pleasure,
Who wore a very short dress,
Which, I have to confess,
Was strange, as it was freezing weather!
I see fallen leaves blown
Hither and thither,
And I wonder whither,
Time has flown
I
Saw carefree spring kiss
Winter goodbye.
And I
Found bliss
Midst newly opened flowers
That time devours.
I saw summer hot
Take the spring,
But cared not
For I
Was still in love with spring.
I saw autumn come,
With her gentle sun
And knew my hours
Midst sweet flowers
Must fade away.
Now, on a winter’s day
I think on the flower’s bloom
Which is, so soon
Gone,
And on my grey hair,
And I wonder where,
The carefree, spring has gone.
She helped him to choose booze
In a store,
And said, “I am 17,
So can not drink”.
He did think
Her more mature,
But no, some teenage boy’s dream,
And new wine,
Is divine,
But not for the mature.
K Morris - Poet 