Jailbird
Fierce Arctic blasts were but things of my past
Once I found romance in the south of France.
How could she entrance with one simple glance?
My lonely love fast was over at last.
No longer alone with wine of the Rhone
We shared fresh claret at the Blue Parrot,
Love, I declared it, for her hair carrot
With its golden tone banded with opal stone.
We traveled to Nice to visit my niece
At the Eden Roc and enjoyed sweet talk;
The sand shore we’d walk and watch sailors caulk.
Our joy had to cease when came the police.
I'd made my exit, a jailbird Brexit,
From a Finnish cell much too cold to tell.
It was love’s death knell as law tracked me well.
To be explicit, Finns caught this nitwit.
It is Arctic cold where I will grow old
My crimes to atone ‘til I’m skin and bone.
My heart lives alone with dreams of the Rhone
Where claret is sold; and your hand I hold.
1/30/2019
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