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I, Pothos



Ms. D. Foster-Smith, Ms. D. Foster-Smith,

Beauty unrivalled in the upper fifth.

Youthful and light, like Beaujolais Nouveau

Furtively watching, I couldn't let you know.


Secretly I longed, hoped one day to please.

While you oozed composure and poise with ease.

Paying full attention to those you're with,

One day, maybe me, Ms. D. Foster-Smith.


Ms. D. Foster-Smith, Ms. D. Foster-Smith,

Sweetness, like hot buttered Welsh Bara brith,

The beauty I saw in your winsome smile

increased my desire, made the wait worthwhile.


As a lad, I'd play the Ridings of Paston.

In trouble often for what I had and hadn't done.

We can't brighten that light of youth as it darkens.

Nor replay visions of you in Kennet Gardens.


We've since travelled on, obeyed life's continuance.

Careers to pursue, families to influence,

Ms. D. Foster-Smith, respectfully I proclaim

I'm still enamoured by the woman you became.








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