With winsome ways and gentle smile
Your beauty does all men beguile;
Your skin is fair and smooth as
silk,
Your hands are soft and white as
milk;
Your ivory neck the sun has
kissed;
Your flaxen hair...What have I
missed?
Ripe cherry lips, above, beneath,
Guard honeyed breath and pearly
teeth;
Your eyes are stars, so clear, so
bright;
Your cheeks are roses, heart’s
delight...
This awful tripe was all the rage
In some far off and golden age,
When every ode and every sonnet
Had this garbage heaped upon it;
When each poet seemed a pimp
who advertised his spineless wimp
-
No doubt he thought it
avant-garde.
Yet I confess I find it
hard,
Cliché or not, to turn a phrase
Exactly apt to sing your praise:
Oh, live-in love, my Ms, you’re
great -
You’ve got a lot of bottle, mate!
(April,
1989)
