Sweet Yvonne

I have an old photograph It was taken at Wimbledon, Long, long ago It was of dear sweet Yvonne And she was smiling at me From an old discoloured print Yvonne, cute and naive She had such a sweet face I recalled the day instantly She had begged me to take her I liked tennis, though not a huge fan But I liked her more so I agreed Suddenly I could smell her And hear that infectious little giggle And feel her touch on my skin Her soft lips on mine The memory of the day was so vivid And of the days of unbridled passion that followed When the wonders of her soft young body Were yielded to me