Wednesday, 1 April 2020

April


I was neither fool nor poet
She the prettiest girl I'd seen
April the month when I met her
I liked the way she flicked her hair
I walked right up and so did dare
To ask her for a date with me
To my surprise she did agree

Not only that, knew who I was
It was set up by the mothers
Who had both chatted unbeknown 
Thinking we would both get on fine
For a week or two our eyes did shine
Then I twigged that all was not well
As though I heard a warning bell

She'd had boyfriend that tried it on
Trusting she fallen in the trap
Luckily she'd escaped from him
Pity they didn't tell me first
Some secrets really are the worst
April is for fools and poets
No need to tell me, I know it!

Image found at www.pixabay.com

6 comments:

  1. Your poem reminded me of these lines from Shakespeare’s Sonnet 98: From you have I been absent in the spring:
    ‘When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
    Hath put a spirit of youth in everything,
    That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him.’
    Sweet memories, Robin!

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  2. Oh dear, youthful romance is (was!) so fraught!

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  3. I love those closing lines.. sigh ...💘💘

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  4. Some love stories dont work out. Sigh.

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  5. Oh, April fools are open to love

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