Claude Monet
La Promenade, la femme a l'ombrelle
Lovers Lament
That summer was the summer of Anne,
As blond as wheat,
Brown-eyed, sweet,
Laughter-filled, eighteen and tan,
A girl to turn the heart of any man.
And turn my heart she did, she did.
It flipped and flopped.
It nearly stopped.
But when I made by smitten bid,
Within my chest I heard it skid.
“Too young, too young,” was her reply.
I shook my head.
My heart played dead.
Ice and sleet invaded July.
Too young for love, too old to cry.
So there I stood – disqualified –
When I was ten and the world too wide.
~ Leonhard Dowty ~
That summer was the summer of Anne,
As blond as wheat,
Brown-eyed, sweet,
Laughter-filled, eighteen and tan,
A girl to turn the heart of any man.
And turn my heart she did, she did.
It flipped and flopped.
It nearly stopped.
But when I made by smitten bid,
Within my chest I heard it skid.
“Too young, too young,” was her reply.
I shook my head.
My heart played dead.
Ice and sleet invaded July.
Too young for love, too old to cry.
So there I stood – disqualified –
When I was ten and the world too wide.
~ Leonhard Dowty ~
