A Lonely Yorkshireman

The contradicting ramblings of a sodding old fool


with 2 comments

Not often have I walked this lane
down to a shop not known by name,
but for the fragrance kept within.

My stride is in it’s purpose strong,
but longing binds my every step.
I want to smell my love again,
I want her fragrance on my skin.

Vials of magic liquid piled
on shelves on walls both left’n right,
tempting hapless pundit all
to sample, try and buy a vial.

Boldly I consent to try
but longing will endure.
For hand of man could never make
her smell that I adore.

I leave the shop a solemn soul
dejected by my quest.
Perfurmer’s fume a tawdry tale,
a whiff o’ willow wet.

A mere illusion of her scent,
a pauper’s reverie.
Aroma of my angel lives
but in my memory.

The lane is long
the bindings tight
how will I last
another night?

Come back to me,
come set me free!
Oh perfume of my sanity.


Written by lonelyyorkshireman

April 4, 2011 at 1:35 PM

Posted in Poetry

Tagged with , , , , , , ,

2 Responses

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  1. Very nice. Well done.

    Unga Bunga Girl

    April 5, 2011 at 3:32 AM

  2. Another great poem! You write beautifully. Such passion…


    April 29, 2011 at 12:17 AM

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