Fiorella. Poem by PAUL COLVIN

She danced in pink pyjamas, she does things on a whim
And used the hotel’s lobby as though it was her gym,
She Christened me papino, in Italian, “little dad”
Now I’m certain Fiorella, is certifiably mad.

Skipping on the pavements, running down the street
That cheeky smile on her face, every time we meet
Inquisitive and funny, she always has a smile
When teaching me Italian slang, Napolitani style.

The only time she’s quiet is when she’s eating food
Wolfing down the pasta if it tasted any good
Focused ‘til she’d finished, that plate was sparkling clean,
Well, she’s the fastest pasta eater, I have ever seen.

For her 18th birthday, we had to celebrate
The pub, The Pride of Paddington, but we didn’t stay too late,
The locals cheered and sang along, admiring all on view
But the Happy Birthday song we sang was especially for you.

All dressed up in her new clothes, completely clad in black
She was as pretty as a picture and I’m sure she loved the craic
But when I’m at home on Saturday, sleeping like a log
She’ll be home in Napoli with her beloved little dog.

Paul Colvin.