Mark Heathcote

Veteran Poet - 3,032 Points (22/03/66 / Manchester)

This woman's my guilty pleasure


This woman's my guilty pleasure
And oh boy how I love her
She sings of the green clover
The bees busy in the purple heather.

This woman is the truth
The whole day, through…
Loaded, like a bullet to
Shoot through any lies.

This woman's my guilty pleasure
In a life of no hope
This woman's my mystic fortune
In a life where I'm always broke.

This woman is the heart of loving
She has no illusions,
That mine is a stump no longer bleeding blood
Just; because at one time it could.

This woman is the reason I'd give my life
And make her my wife.

Submitted: Thursday, August 21, 2014

Topic of this poem: song


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