He returns

don’t like your literary fiction

i i don’t like your poetry that much

I don’t like your clinging like a lichen

I don’t like you flaunting your old crutches

I don’t like your jeans and yellow top

I didn’t like your colours nor your touch

i don’t like you looking very hot

When my legs give way

Katherine's avatarHow my heart sings

It’s already going darker and your dinner’s in the pot
Where are you now, my sweetheart? I remember,I forget
I know you liked those kippers smoked in Whitby in a shed
Your breath was something else again, when we went to bed

Then there was the big pie shop, above the mile of beach
We have no pork butcher but we can still buy meat
Men like a steamed pudding hot with home made jam
They like custard, gravy, HP Sauce and ham

We walked out on the causeway and the wind was very wild
We saw the fleet of fishing boats. tossing on the tide
You were so romantic, you went out overnight
But you got sea sickness and your merry face was white

We went up to the Abbey and we saw the cliffs so high
Nature is so…

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