ROUNDING UP STRAYS
Posted: Thu Mar 08, 2012 5:40 pm
ROUNDING UP STRAYS
She sat there at a table in the corner of the lounge
of the local pubs saloon. The day was hot.
She looked a little out of place, a trifle too refined
though she drank her beer daintily from a pot.
No doubt she’d been a beauty in her young halcyon days
and the way she dressed just told you she had class.
I noticed old Jim watching from beneath his weathered hat,
he was working up the courage for a pass.
Old Jim had lost Mary his wife in floods a year ago.
I can still recall the sorrow on his face
She was trying to save one ewe from a miserable death,
the old ewe had got herself caught in the race.
Jim hadn’t noticed Mary gone, and now both girls were caught -
he was mustering the flock to higher ground
he was tormented by devils - his every day was fraught.
Jim would never cope with Mary not around?
He said – “I’d like to talk to her. Do you think it’s alright?
I mean no disrespect to my sweet Mary
A man gets pretty lonely in a house all on his own
though old codgers like me get pretty wary.
That lady there – I see she has a sadness in her eye
she’s a bar-room rose that’s withered in the heat.
I sense in her a kindness and a very loving heart
her petals may have faded - but the pot - pourri is sweet.”
I said to go and say G’day – ‘twas just a pleasantry.
A chat about the weather and a smile
cost nothing but a little time, and he had some of that
and good manners never go out of style.
‘Don’t stress about it Jimbo, just go over, strut your stuff
I doubt she’ll turn around and run away.
A bloke who’s nice will win over the ladies every time.
Mate - just be yourself and it will be OK.’
So he ambled quietly over and I saw him tip his hat
I watched as she looked up and gave a smile.
He wandered to the bar and headed back with two more pots
a silly grin was plastered on his dial.
They were getting on famously that was quite plain to see
their body language showed affinity.
I watched his bar room rose begin to blossom once again.
and could see how sweet he’d find the pot-pourri .
Maureen Clifford © 02/12
pot -pouri pronounced po-paree
She sat there at a table in the corner of the lounge
of the local pubs saloon. The day was hot.
She looked a little out of place, a trifle too refined
though she drank her beer daintily from a pot.
No doubt she’d been a beauty in her young halcyon days
and the way she dressed just told you she had class.
I noticed old Jim watching from beneath his weathered hat,
he was working up the courage for a pass.
Old Jim had lost Mary his wife in floods a year ago.
I can still recall the sorrow on his face
She was trying to save one ewe from a miserable death,
the old ewe had got herself caught in the race.
Jim hadn’t noticed Mary gone, and now both girls were caught -
he was mustering the flock to higher ground
he was tormented by devils - his every day was fraught.
Jim would never cope with Mary not around?
He said – “I’d like to talk to her. Do you think it’s alright?
I mean no disrespect to my sweet Mary
A man gets pretty lonely in a house all on his own
though old codgers like me get pretty wary.
That lady there – I see she has a sadness in her eye
she’s a bar-room rose that’s withered in the heat.
I sense in her a kindness and a very loving heart
her petals may have faded - but the pot - pourri is sweet.”
I said to go and say G’day – ‘twas just a pleasantry.
A chat about the weather and a smile
cost nothing but a little time, and he had some of that
and good manners never go out of style.
‘Don’t stress about it Jimbo, just go over, strut your stuff
I doubt she’ll turn around and run away.
A bloke who’s nice will win over the ladies every time.
Mate - just be yourself and it will be OK.’
So he ambled quietly over and I saw him tip his hat
I watched as she looked up and gave a smile.
He wandered to the bar and headed back with two more pots
a silly grin was plastered on his dial.
They were getting on famously that was quite plain to see
their body language showed affinity.
I watched his bar room rose begin to blossom once again.
and could see how sweet he’d find the pot-pourri .
Maureen Clifford © 02/12
pot -pouri pronounced po-paree