Hal had his Daisy. I my Lotus dear.
In proud rebellion, Hal lost his all.
From this I learn patience; a moral clear:
Count -- one two three -- and wait for my love's call.
She is unique -- no copy can be made.
The look of her sweet eyes, the feel of her
Soft hands, ne'er from my memory shall fade.
Because of these, all others I abjure.
And in the evenings of those days we meet,
With ling'ring taste of apple bathed in stream
I spread myself within my lonely sheet.
Of music -- jazz and symphony -- I dream.
I shift and enter, escape and return.
For to do else would her sweet program spurn.
Ronnie Kon
Copr. (C) 1988, by the Author., Reprinted with Permission
All Rights Reserved.
