Sheenagh Pugh's Blog, page 50
February 14, 2010
Who fancies a love poem for Valentine's then?
I don't do happy ones, though...
Ballad of the Lovesick Traveller
You roll a rizla, and your friends
half-heartedly protest,
but she, ex-smoker that she is,
lights it and holds your wrist.
We fan the acrid smoke away,
she tastes it in your kiss.
And what is that but love, my dear,
when nothing tastes amiss?
She's twenty-five; she wants to dance
and feel the pulsing sound.
You're fifty-four; you smile and shrug
and let her take your hand.
On each young face you read the words
No fool like an old fool.
And wha...
Ballad of the Lovesick Traveller
You roll a rizla, and your friends
half-heartedly protest,
but she, ex-smoker that she is,
lights it and holds your wrist.
We fan the acrid smoke away,
she tastes it in your kiss.
And what is that but love, my dear,
when nothing tastes amiss?
She's twenty-five; she wants to dance
and feel the pulsing sound.
You're fifty-four; you smile and shrug
and let her take your hand.
On each young face you read the words
No fool like an old fool.
And wha...
