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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required 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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