As It Were Poem by Herbert Nehrlich
As It Were
The Postman rang his little bell
to hand me stacks of letters, well
if none would prove to be from her
I'd pout and have some sweet liqueur.
You may in this not quite concur
but even thoughts will cause a stir
I'm painting her in aquarelle
thus to dispense with his small bell.
I am, it's true, a connoisseur,
in certain matters, as it were.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
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4/29/2024 9:21:02 AM # 1.0.0.1119
