The Spoilsport Poem by Terry Dawson
The Spoilsport
The things we do! I dream of you, In dream my face is pressed
Up close and tight in time of night against your lovely breast
Amd warming glow commence to grow from that proximity
Then questing touch and such and such, oh joy these things should be
But now crowed call halts dream's hot thrall, the waking hour is here!
And rue the cost in pleasures lost, hark hear the spoilsport cheer!
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5/4/2024 2:39:06 PM # 1.0.0.1119
