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Poem

The cobblestones were damp with mist,
The fog draped as a shall.
While the traveler--too long alone,
Barely noticed, if at all.
But this caught his attention,
For he had no place to go--
Above him glowed a window red,
Its meaning sailors know.
And up and down the alleyways 
His footsteps could be heard,
Echoed by the cobblestones
Though he uttered not a word.
He was cold and damp--and smoking,
But he smelled most of a beer,
For the corner Pub had served him
Till his thoughts became unclear.
And this was his objective,
Being lonely and depressed--
To forfeit all his reason
Far too long a foreign guest.
Till his wallet grew the lighter
And his pockets empty too,
He set out in the London fog
Having nothing else to do.
But that window, it was calling
And the traveler could hear,
Regardless of his sleepy wit
Having drowned himself in beer.
But having been too far from home
He came upon the door,
And knocked, although uncertainly
Having never knocked before.
Then the door did slowly open
And he noticed her perfume,
Having been alone, and far too long
And living room-to-room.
Next he noticed her mascara 
And her lips of ruby red.
Seems her beauty overwhelmed him
As he followed her to bed.
And there it was he spent the night
With no money to his name--
But the lady's kindness, thankfully,
Was free of cost, or shame.
For the Madame, too, was far from home--
Seems the two were just the same.

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