France beckons once again. We are off there in a just a few days leaving this old house in the capable hands of one prone to losing front door keys.
As ever when abroad I shall have the irksome tablet thing with me yet other than dip into WP occasionally there is no prospect of me posting from said tablet as its full workings remain something of a mystery sadly.
I shall return (the French fuel blockade allowing) around the 20th June. In the meantime, best of good fortune to you all, and herewith a poem that lost its way!
THE POEM THAT LOST ITS WAY
Contraband were the cigarettes, the wine and the champagne
So said the girl in the hippie hat who was quite drunk all the same
I asked her, “What can you tell me?” she said “What you want to know?”
My question, “What place has love in a universe so melancholy and shallow?”
She thought for just a moment, rolled her eyes then proclaimed
“If you don’t know the right answer then you should be ashamed
For love can be a scarecrow charmed by the carrion crows
Or an old lady taking in stray dogs the veterinary might dispose
Or a pretty girl plucking daisy petals, thinking she’s out of his earshot
Whispering to her eager self, ‘He loves me; he loves me not’
Love can even be spiteful words spoken in cruellest jest
Giving rise to a broken heart sorrow that’s so hard to divest
Yet when my glass was half empty, my own heart broken in two
I’m glad that you rescued me, shame the sight of you now makes me spew
For you on a good day on behalf of an England team could bore
Besides, what with all your bloody whinging I can’t take it anymore!”