Poem: The Anticlimax
A sharply dressed townsman, a gem of a gent
Spreading seeds of refinement wherever he went
Did once, in this travels abroad, come upon her,
A regal young lady with a penchant to wander.
Bound not to one place did she flit about,
Caprices assailed from within and without,
Her days ever-changing, her whims loose like sand,
Her schedules oft plagued by her fancies' demand.
Their tryst was quite brief, in a bustling place.
He parted demurely, with grief on his face.
In meeting her gaze he'd felt, at once, whole,
Then halved once again once she'd gone with his soul.
When a year had passed by and he still felt them fated,
With his heart swelled three sizes, with love unabated,
He vowed to his god he'd pursue her anew,
And trusted his instincts would know what to do.
For eight lengthy years he uncovered her trail;
He searched every day, whether sun, rain, or hail.
Then, to his surprise, his deep thirst did he quench
When he happened upon her sat on a park bench.
His throat loosed a primal, uproarious cry
As he laid bare to her, as he gazed in her eye,
All his feelings of passion, of love, and of need
With just those same words as his heart had decreed.
He was, when he'd finished, so breathlessly tense,
His hands rather clammy, his quailing immense.
Just what would she say and with what tone of voice?
Would they move to the Alps? Would he have a choice?
Would their offspring be fair? Would their wedding be grand?
Would she pass on at ninety, he clutching her hand?
At first she said nothing, but blushed a deep red.
She struggled to wrangle the thoughts in her head.
Said the man sat beside her: "Who's this, Babydoll?"
Said the woman herself: "I cannot quite recall..."