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SHARRON IS CHAMPAGNE AND CHARM
I never know what days she comes here
And it makes no difference what she may wear
she only graces this place about three times a week
And if given the chance I probably couldn’t speak

We once exchanged words, but I don’t know what I said
I kept speaking while envisioning what could lay ahead
She looked like the picnic type with grapes and champagne
But then I could tell there was sophistication in one who seemed a bit plain

Not so much a chameleon, but just someone eager to please
I would pour her a glass of champagne while upon my knees
I was describing how it seems we’d both seen it all
How many times did she rise and how many times did I fall?

Only a few days of the week and  I never what day
Because if given a chance I can’t think of what I would say
Maybe I’d tell myself that she doesn’t deserve the wild side of me
Rather I squeezed out “would you like to go on a picnic ma’m” and she came to agree

She could tell me a tale and I would tell her a story
It may be rhetorical, analytical or an allegory
The lady described with Van Gogh type accuracy her childhood and that which she’s seen
And I find her so intriguing she could convince me the sky is green

Alas the lass but passes my way yet I must have a ration
I talk not of a fiery, hellishly hot kind of passion
I’m talking about the electric thrill that stuns me whenever she passes by
While I’ll be impatiently practicing to tell her I actually saw a green sky
     © 2011.….Phreepoetree free cee!~

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