This Woman's My Guilty Pleasure Poem by Mark Heathcote

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