Not far from Bristol City's ground,
Where I only went once,
With Dad.
But Christine was the key,
Met through friends
At 7 Raynes Road.
Her father was a welder, on the docks
At Hotwells,
Managing somehow
To appear
Whenever we were at it.
Must have been the neighbours.
She lay among the corn
One summer day,
Dark hair on shoulders,
Large breasts hidden
Beneath her blouse.
We never did it,
But always almost,
Then I to Uni,
While she went off and
A banker wed.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A sad tale of almost unrequited love!