A Girl In Harrods
Dressed in black and with a donkey face
That is kind and interesting, I’d have to give chase.
Where has she gone in the store of some dreams,
Look! Labels of love and pretentious grand grace.
There are people all around with suspicious eyes,
In uniforms of work, there is no time to shirk,
What am I doing in the centre stage, trade and conspicuous,
Look left, then right, look forward, a triangle of surveillance.
She’s there!, In a muse, Oh what dress to choose?
I relieve myself of the search, lean on the first
Resting place in awe, looking for her door
As she leaves in a race, full of customers pace.
Of times that go by in the witching hours chime,
She grows in a dreams continuum, through a moment of love,
Though she doesn’t know in her unsuspecting ignorance.
Yet I cannot follow no more, no more of the dance,
Around the shop did I prance, a Swan lake prance,
Infatuation and wonder.
I shall never see her again,
I kick myself in shame.
I should have spoken,
but what do you say.
There will be a chance one day.