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A Lover's Lament

Poetry By: redskelf

Tags: Lover, Shotgun

A friend challenged me to write a more serious and romantic poem, which is not really my style. I did try but it degenerated into my usual farce after the first few lines.

Submitted:Jan 5, 2013    Reads: 29    Comments: 4    Likes: 3   

We used to meet at eventide, when the air was soft with dusk.
The honeysuckle's heady scent wove magic with its musk.
Your lips were soft and tender, like ripe buds yet to bloom..
And then your father caught us and locked you in your room.
I waited in the woods all night, a-pacing hour by hour,
Then went and fetched a ladder and clambered to your tower.
Your father, he heard noises and kicked away the ladder.
In all the dealings I've had with men, I've never seen one madder.
I hooked my fingers on the sill, and dangled in the air.
How fair you looked, how beautiful, how horrified your stare.
Your father fetched a shotgun; you begged him not to kill me.
And the thought of being shot, I own, did not exactly thrill me.
You leaned out of the window, your hair a silken veil
And the musky scent of honeysuckle, my senses did assail.
My fingers started slipping when there came a mighty blast
And then I saw the bramble patch come rushing at me, fast.
The thorns, they pierced my wounded loins, I saw your face above me
And when I saw your twitching lips, I knew you did not love me
And from my head had flown all thoughts of courtship and romance
(It's hard to have romantic thoughts with leadshot in your pants)
So that's when I decided, it was time to disappear,
Enouraged by the shotgun, which was pointing at my rear.
And there and then I made a vow to choose maids who were not
The daughters of fierce papas, who never miss a shot.


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