When you arrive, I'll turn my head.
In spite of myself I'll blush bright red.
My eyes will widen, my spirits soar,
As soon as you come through the door.
Will you arrive? Of course you will!
Surely we shared the self-same thrill
Yesterday when we first met.
You couldn't possibly forget.....
Or could you? Impossibility!
Did you say three or half-past three?
Am I certain it was this cafe?
Maybe it was the one across the way!
Maybe it was four o'clock you said!
Maybe it was tomorrow instead!
When you arrive I'll be quite calm;
A picture of nonchalance and charm.
'Oh! Hallo! It's you!' I'll say, surprised.
My adoration will be disguised.
And it won't matter that you're quite late.
But have I made a mistake with the date?
When you arrive......no if....no when............
Is it any wonder that I hate men!
A CAR IS A CAR
Some people (and my husband's one)
View cars with a knowing eye.
They note the make, the style, the age,
As they go whizzing by.
They suddenly stop in a car-parked street
To note some different feature,
And point out salient details
In the manner of a teacher.
They reminisce about long-lost cars
In a misty emotional way.
They even recall the purchase
And how much they had to pay!
They keep a dossier.... 'Cars I've known'!
Cars punctuate their lives;
They have become their beacons,
Out-shining, maybe, their wives!
But some people (and I'm one of them)
See cars as 'things on wheels',
Sardine cans that travel,
And certainly no big deals.
Above see my view of a car....
Featureless and moving past,
With a person somewhere inside it,
Going slow or going fast.
I drive one, that I must admit,
But I have no feeling for it,
And I certainly don't get drooly
About the one that went before it!
It starts at A and goes to B;
It certainly is no star.
A car is a car is a car is a car
Is a car is a car is a car.