“We do not speak of religion, nor politics here, ”
he sternly warned,
as if some terrible fate would befall us in the pub
For speaking so.
I declined the going home with him
for a cuppa tea,
sure it would lead to things more intimately said,
or done.
“I’ll google you, ”
I said,
and so I did.
sweet man who was,
as he said he was,
a poet,
Who wove a spell around my
lavender heart,
while I stopped briefly
in West Cork.