Love In Berlin

Rome was always a playground for me, Where lovely girls thronged around the streets: The Fontana dei Trevi where people threw coins Hoping they would revisit enchanting Rome, Or on the Spanish stairs amid the delicate flowers Exuding fragrant perfumes of purple roses, Delicate dianthus or scented-leaf geraniums. There she sat, alone upon one of the steep stairs, Licking a vanilla ice-cream and sipping a lemonade. We looked hard at each other and we both smiled It was passionate attraction magnitude nine. Who can escape the wonder of a sexy love? Losing no time we went for a walk until soon We were kissing on the ramparts of Rome, Watching the sunset and making our erotic plans. Her name was Helga and bound to leave next day, To go back to her home in faraway Berlin. “Come with me love, we’ll never part,” she crooned, “We’ll drink plenty coffee in my Berlin.” How could I miss an idyllic invitation like that? Alas I knew full well I did not have the fare To travel with my newly found goddess of love To go far away, to live with her in West Berlin. A plan was needed, if courage I had, To go to the Parioli where the rich lived. Surely it would be child’s play, I thought To enter and help myself to a handful of wealth, Just enough to accompany my love to Berlin. Round a corner a stately darkened villa stood. Should be a simple job to rifle the lot, Assuming I could find an easy door unlocked. I tiptoed in and hastened up the path. Alas fortune was not on my side that day. I heard the ominous sharp whistle of an alarm. I turned and ran but the Doberman was quick And bit my tender behind till it bled. Soon I found myself in a nasty smelling ER, With sutures repairing the nasty bite. “Three days in bed, my boy,” the matronly nurse said. “Rest face down for the wound to heal, And keep the curtains drawn.” Thus snickering she left. Helga departed forever more and I lay face down in bed Crying from pain and cursing my bad luck, Instead of making love in the city of Berlin.