At first I had heard she was living back in Paris,
Yet a little later I lost track of her,
Then one day I received an urgent message,
That she was at death’s door in Hanover.
At the start she said, ‘Do not ever fall in love with me,’
I answered, ‘Yes,’ yet that was but a lie,
For already I had become besotted,
If I could not win her heart then I would surely die.
They say time heals a lost devotion,
Yet in truth I never found that so,
Each day of the decade since she departed,
Each day brought with it a new low.
Regardless, at the news of her grave affliction,
Across the Channel onto Germany I rushed,
I found her at her lodgings in Hanover,
And arrived more than a little flushed.
Even so very ill she still retained great beauty,
Lying under swathes of blankets upon her bed,
I leaned forward and gently kissed her gelid brow,
And by way of riposte this is what she said.
“How on earth have you discovered me?
I really thought I had lost you; you twat for good,
For you to see me thus causes me annoyance,
So bugger off back to England – understood?”
Tail between my legs I took of my leave,
For she had clearly put me in my place,
So I found a little bar off Luisenstrasse,
And drunk so much that I was off my face.
In the morning I was told she had passed away,
Only an hour after I had left the previous night,
She had however penned me a short note,
That read, ‘You always were a bore and none too bright!’