A weekend away
By PaulJ
Once,On a storm-swept Welsh summers night,Behind the paint peeled panels of a caravan door,He spoke to her in a soft whispered voice,While a basin strategically placed on the floor,Collected the raindrops which found their way throughTill the dark clouded sky split with the blueOf laser-like beams that coloured the dawnAnd painted the hills a pale pastel hue.When,The last wisps of morning had cleared from the land,And the whole world slept, indulging a whim,Soft breeze tussled they strolled the sea strand,The sun glistening gold against their white skin,While she, first oblivious to what she invited,Then realised the effect she had upon himAs she felt herself burn in the fire of his smileAnd the heat in his eyes, which she had ignited.Then,In a crowded carriage to the clickerty-clackOf the railway track, she sat,Lost in the thoughts of that which had passed,She pondered on life and how it unfoldsWatching the trees and the telegraph polesReflecting across the NO SMOKING sign,Knowing that nothing can be set back in time,She turned from the window and breathed in a sigh.But,What of Ron, the pork butcher’s son?He too had suggested a weekend away,Searching for fossils on Salisbury Plain.Would going with him have been so much fun?And now would she still be feeling the same?She considered it all in the cold light of day.And though scraping at rocks is not where she’s atIt had to be better than Wales with this prat. Written October 13th, 2001 © on Oct 13 2001 01:49 AM PST 0 • 14
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"Once,On a storm-swept Welsh summers night,Behind the paint peeled panels of a caravan door,He spoke to her in a soft whispered voice,While a basin strategically placed on the floor,Collected the raindrops which found their way throughTill the dark clouded sky split with the blueOf laser-like beams that coloured the dawnAnd painted the hills a pale pastel hue.When,The last wisps of morning had cleared from the land,And the whole world slept, indulging a whim,Soft breeze tussled they strolled the sea strand,The sun glistening gold against their white skin,While she, first oblivious to what she invited,Then realised the effect she had upon himAs she felt herself burn in the fire of his smileAnd the heat in his eyes, which she had ignited.Then,In a crowded carriage to the clickerty-clackOf the railway track, she sat,Lost in the thoughts of that which had passed,She pondered on life and how it unfoldsWatching the trees and the telegraph polesReflecting across the NO SMOKING sign,Knowing that nothing can be set back in time,She turned from the window and breathed in a sigh.But,What of Ron, the pork butcher’s son?He too had suggested a weekend away,Searching for fossils on Salisbury Plain.Would going with him have been so much fun?And now would she still be feeling the same?She considered it all in the cold light of day.And though scraping at rocks is not where she’s atIt had to be better than Wales with this prat...."