Wendy Cope

Triolet

I used to think all poets were Byronic--
Mad, bad and dangerous to know.
And then I met a few. Yes it's ironic--
I used to think all poets were Byronic.
They're mostly wicked as a ginless tonic
And wild as pension plans. Not long ago
I used to think all poets were Byronic--
Mad, bad and dangerous to know.

Comentarios

goldengate(d) ha dicho que…
la madre que la parió, qué buena es la cope esta.
sylvia ha dicho que…
sí, no la conocía yo tampoco... :)
MJ ha dicho que…
Este comentario ha sido eliminado por el autor.
MJ ha dicho que…
Jo estic enamorada d'aquest:

After the Lunch
-Wendy Cope

On Waterloo Bridge, where we said our goodbyes,
The weather conditions bring tears to my eyes.
I wipe them away with a black woolly glove,
And try not to notice I've fallen in love.

On Waterloo Bridge, I am trying to think,
"This is nothing - you're high on the charm and the drink."
But the jukebox inside me is playing a song,
That says something different, and when was it wrong?

On Waterloo Bridge with the wind in my hair,
I am tempted to skip. "You're a fool." I don't care.
The head does its best, but the heart is the boss,
I admit it before I am halfway across.
sylvia ha dicho que…
Preciós (!)