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john-f-mccullaghPoems
I called her tiger Lilly As she favored clothes with stripes But I did not back away in fear when she flashed her pearly whites. There’s a chapel on the campus And we both so liked to sing There was just one little problem Lilly wore another’s ring. She’d been six months separated From her lawful wedded mate. She’d suffered two miscarriages Things between them weren't great. It still of course was possible That they might work it out But I found myself falling Every time she was about.. We started sharing moments At the ballpark and the shore As much as we were together I found myself wanting more. I told myself its over- that her man’s not coming back. She’s a pretty, gracious flower and a tiger in the sack. And then one day it ended Her parents intervened They forced them back together We never had our farewell scene. A year after we’d parted There was a story in the news Lilly died in a car accident Her husband had been stewed. So every year on that same date The day I heard you’d died I lay a Lilly on your grave It’s from your other guy.
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Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 10:08 PM UTC
The Other Guy
I called her tiger Lilly As she favored clothes with stripes But I did not back away in fear when she flashed her pearly whites. There’s a chapel on the campus And we both so liked to sing There was just one little problem Lilly wore another’s ring. She’d been six months separated From her lawful wedded mate. She’d suffered two miscarriages Things between them weren't great. It still of course was possible That they might work it out But I found myself falling Every time she was about.. We started sharing moments At the ballpark and the shore As much as we were together I found myself wanting more. I told myself its over- that her man’s not coming back. She’s a pretty, gracious flower and a tiger in the sack. And then one day it ended Her parents intervened They forced them back together We never had our farewell scene. A year after we’d parted There was a story in the news Lilly died in a car accident Her husband had been stewed. So every year on that same date The day I heard you’d died I lay a Lilly on your grave It’s from your other guy.
A bittersweet story
john-f-mccullagh
Written by
john-f-mccullagh
63/M/American
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 10:08 PM UTC
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