"Though Nothing Can Bring Back the Hour of Splendour in the Grass, of Glory in the Flower"

a poem by Richard Gildea, UK - poetry writer, author, poet

(In response to Dear Nancy's well considered Title)


Sixty minutes lying here, I ask myself for what
A promise of a rendezvous with the Angel of my dreams
Scented whispered words of love, now I can't believe my lot
Ladies have prerogatives; at least that's how it seems


Could be doing something else, like kicking football in the park
Fishing down at 'Fiddlers Creek' and hope to get a bite
Instead of which I'm laid out flat, my bottoms damp and sky is dark
If methinks she hopes I'll wait, milady's higher than a Kite


Whilst lying here upon the ground, the clouds above break up and smile
At loves young dream with patience tried who perseveres, at least her due
Hidden 'neath the long tall grass, makes it seem somehow worthwhile
I picture her with Raven hair and eyes such 'Belle of Blue'


Undying love I will declare, with either spoken word or pen
Soft utterance of verbal kiss, an oath upon the parchment rent
Though you are innocence of Nine and I of only Ten
The years will pass in blissfulness, for you indeed are heaven sent


Nothing in this world it seems compares my love to you
Perhaps the Glory in the Flower, which brushes face with sweet perfume
Reflects the sun on petals splayed, to catch a splash of morning dew
Nature cast her spell on thee and now my heart doth ye consume

Richard
(I had to rein in the humour a little, so as to show my romantic side. For our 'VN' ladies you understand)

"You may lead my horse to water, but you can't make him Drink"
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