Whilst unwell and looking for Lemsip (My saviour) I discovered this old notepad I’d at one stage partially filled. Queue some more old scribblings I never got around to sharing.
Memories of Love in 2015
Down a little muddy path between two tiny little towns.
A woman by a stream can often be seen or found.
She drank some men quite merry in her younger more physical days.
She once had herself a business in more physical kinda ways.
It’s said her eyes still glisten if you know what I mean and if you’re ever passing by you might glimpse her by the stream.
She was a blacksmith’s daughter. His grip was like a vice.
Her mother had passed early in the deathness of the night.
Down a little muddy path she drank some men quite merry.
Until her husband found her and she was not quite ready.
She had two other sisters, because there’s always three.
They still walk amongst us circling that old bare oak tree.
Two sets of calves shine through the night bypassing any kind of worry.
Dancing to forget the reasons they are sorry.
If you look real closely, nothing much will change.
But you’ll glimpse three pairs of legs around that oak tree stage.
I watch them joined in misery, I feel them joined in love.
Some kind of enigma sent when the world needed their touch.
© G.P Williamson 2017