martes, 4 de marzo de 2008

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.

5 comentarios:

goldengate(d) dijo...

la madre que la parió, qué buena es la cope esta.

sylvia dijo...

sí, no la conocía yo tampoco... :)

MJ dijo...
Este comentario ha sido eliminado por el autor.
MJ dijo...

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 dijo...

Preciós (!)