The Tryst

According to tradition
The place where sweethearts meet
Is meadowland and hillside,
And not the city street.
Love lingers when you say it
By lake and moonlight glow:
The poets all O. K. it—
It may be better so!

And yet I keep my trysting
In the department stores;
I always wait for Emma
At the revolving doors.
It might dismay the poets,
And yet it's wholly true—
My heart leaps when I know it's
My Emma, pushing through!

It may be more romantic
By brook or waterfall,
Yet better meet on pavements
Than never meet at all;
I want no moon beguiling,
No dark and bouldered shore,
When I see Emma smiling
And twirling through the door!
Rate this poem: 


No reviews yet.