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She had dark and subtle eyes with a core of secret fire
That could always spot the true man; that could always spot the liar:
Eyes that saw what was; what is; what may come to be;
That could seduce a butterfly or give a tiger cause to flee.

Today she sat alone in a coffee shop in town
In a coat as black as ebony – its collar like a crown.
A musician saw her sitting at the table by the bar;
She reminded him of old-world blues he played on the guitar.

So he stood in humble silence. His heart was all aflutter,
She was like his favourite crumpet. Would she let him be its butter?
He thought she might be smiling, but he could not really tell,
For the woman wore her collar like a tortoise wears its shell.

Her fingers worked the paper of a roll-up cigarette;
The musician sighed with longing, and a pang of deep regret;
He knew he could not talk to her. He had no words to say.
Maybe moments of this magnitude were meant to slip away.

And then she smiled at him, and the smile opened doors.
But she could not let him through, for this man was not her cause;
She knew this was a lesson to embrace, so she could learn
That her broken heart would heal if she gave it room to burn.

© Simon Welsh Poetry 30th July 2010





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