As I sat reading poetry
A figure passed me.
I wonder, in future years
Will another, without fear
See pass by
A moving phantom, as did I?
Or did I see
Some future me
As I sat alone at home
Pondering on poetry?
As I sat reading poetry
A figure passed me.
I wonder, in future years
Will another, without fear
See pass by
A moving phantom, as did I?
Or did I see
Some future me
As I sat alone at home
Pondering on poetry?
The attraction
Of an abstraction
Holds the reader’s attention.
There would be dissention
Where I to show my muse,
Soaked in booze,
And guzzling pub grub,
And her shoes
All covered in mud.
I think
My readers would
Say “You do your muse confuse
With a girl sozzled in drink”,
Then, continuing with a wink,
“Morris has lost his marbels, poor old chap,
What a sad mishap!.
Or perchance he has taken too much wine
And thinks a girl divine
Who (one must confess)
Has no idea how to dress)!
Shall I break the spell
And tell
The truth about my Muse
Or would she her mystery lose?
I do maintain
That the abstraction
Of an attraction
Should continue to reign
The below is dedicated to the person who rang me at halfpast 2 this morning from a withheld number.
—
Why do you ring me at halfpast two? Tell me, please do.
The sound of my mobile echoing around, dragging me from sleep profound.
I answered the phone, no one there, cursing inwardly I return to my lair.
Whoever you are, whatever you do, refrain from calling me at halfpast two!