A Ride To Puncet

                                                          – Going Out –

It wasn’t the glow of the sunset

     That played with my heart such freaks,

Nor the romantic ride out to Puncet,

     But the sunset glow of her cheeks.

It wasn’t the beautiful splendor,

     O the golden autumnal sky;

Nor the sylvan brook-song tender

     But the light of her fair songish eye,

That lifted my heart from the river

     Of solitude, quiet and peace,

And set all my pulses aquiver,

     Which sternly refused to decrease.

                                                           – Coming Back –

It wasn’t the tree toads sad wailing

     That dampened my gay spirits so,

Nor the drenching and pitiless raining,

     But the few cruel words she spoke low

That threw my heart back to its river

     Beneath the cold waters and black;

And caused my hot pulses to shiver –

     “Next Sunday I’m going with Jack.”

March 2, ‘91

Pub. in Midd. Penny Press