Our Man in Europe, dave Delacroix.... The Highwayman.
dedicato. Mimi. Cafe Bordeaux.
..And Sweet Glenda, who I loved so well, who trifled with my ardency, kept me at ropes end and made me jealous, Richard, handsome Jon and Paul, diverted me so that they would call and bring gifts, engagements, escorts to the County dance or seaside trips and souveniers that wrang my heart, en-raged my Yorkshire tears, but yet, and yet, where is she now.
And sweet Dolores, who I worshipped so well. Who danced at my side then flipped my fragile Soul onto a pan of fire of disdain for her ways, a flagrant abuse of the flower of Love, who frollicked in the hay, then City-bound but would not come Up to see the wretch she had left behind, huddled in confusion on the Yorkshire moor within the heights of Doom, but, my lass, my bonnie lass, where are you now...
Psalms for Sweet Charlotte, long buried in a cold grave. A Child who hankered for me whilst, foolish, I hankered for what I craved, scattied in robust skirts round my buckle shoes, praised my aim when I failed to hunting-shoot. And playful, Re-arranged my TRi-corn hat, suggested I was Dick Turpin, a Highwayman that would carry her away, some place, some where, to Love-s Paradise!.. Oh my Charlotte! Where are you, where are you, oh my Charlotte, where are you now...
c.davedelacroix, april, 2020. Virus-Central, Cornwall, U.K.
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