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donall-dempseyPoems
NEVER TO BE TOLD Oh joy! Not one two gentlemen magpies conversing on my crazy paving. Two Fred Astaires in tails awaiting their Ginger Rogers' or merely waiters enquiring "Would Sir like to savour the moment?" Their white so....white. Their black so...black yet not-so...black. Their viridian sheen treasure for the eyes. I teach my little girl to rhyme them. One for. . . Two for. . . as another joins them. "3 for a girl!"" I tell her. "That's you!" "That's me?" All day she chants and plays: "I'm a magpie I'm a magpie!" Years later when she has grown far far beyond this moment ( transformed into a Punk Goth Princess ) she asks me why I used to call her my magpie. "Ah..." I say kissing her spikey hair. "Secret. . . . . .never to be told."
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Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 4:56 PM UTC
NEVER TO BE TOLD
NEVER TO BE TOLD Oh joy! Not one two gentlemen magpies conversing on my crazy paving. Two Fred Astaires in tails awaiting their Ginger Rogers' or merely waiters enquiring "Would Sir like to savour the moment?" Their white so....white. Their black so...black yet not-so...black. Their viridian sheen treasure for the eyes. I teach my little girl to rhyme them. One for. . . Two for. . . as another joins them. "3 for a girl!"" I tell her. "That's you!" "That's me?" All day she chants and plays: "I'm a magpie I'm a magpie!" Years later when she has grown far far beyond this moment ( transformed into a Punk Goth Princess ) she asks me why I used to call her my magpie. "Ah..." I say kissing her spikey hair. "Secret. . . . . .never to be told."
donall-dempsey
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donall-dempsey
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 4:56 PM UTC
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