My Apple Pie Guy

I long to dip my feet: just once more
in the pleasure garden of life.
To let them frolic about, peaking under the shadow
of the lily leaves, creating mayhem
amongst the wild life there.
Then to sit back, giggling like a school girl
on her first real date.

To untie my long auburn hair as you once did,
whilst kissing soft, the morning air, caring not one jot
that neighbours may sit to stare.
With my arms full to bursting
riots of flowers –
in all the colours of Jacobs’s woollen coat.
Be allowed to abstain –
from that oh so tedious
work routine, spending time instead
with my, oh so adorable you.

There is this urge in me
to skip to the local shop
buy penny sweets from the large
round jar, whilst standing outside munching in rapture.
That all this and more, once beat a path to my door.

I sit to recall my lovely new red dress, made
from my Sisters old Winter Cloak.
I couldn’t have cared less –
it looked so fine on me.
Then when you come around for your
Sunday tea – only me – did you see.
I spoon fed you my adoring eyes
played footsie, whilst you ate your apple pie.
Praying like mad you didn’t drop your food
because Mother so hated a mess.

I can taste it, like it was only yesterday
if I turn to catch the breeze I swear you are
standing close: fresh linen was always
your essence.
Never did I find truth in anyone else –
I searched under every fallen leaf
Sideways glances had me know that
none could ever be you.

So, I splash in the pond and I care not a heap.
That was then; when good proud men went to war.
This is now – when those happy times
are the sweetest part, I’ll always keep.

Poppy April 2013 ~xx~


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