The wind is howling and to be honest, I’d howl too if I was outside in it, but being snugly smug with a mug of tea, nice and warm just her and me
listening to the harmony of the winds that blow in off the sea.
Sunday and I’ve not yet met my doom,
I heard my doom rents a double room
perhaps he’s waiting for me
perhaps he is not a he but a she
that waits in Battersea for me.
not ready for church yet
not ready to queue for a pew,
not when I’ve got a fabulous view
of the woman I adore.
© 2020, John Smallshaw.