'I don't want to play piano!'
Cried the girl.
'You'll never have a husband that way!'
Shouted the mum.
So the girl learned piano,
She became very good,
And she could play anything from memory.
And many men came to her mum's door,
'I'd like to marry your daughter.'
He'd ask for the mum's husband,
And he'd show face:
'Of course, if she likes you as well.'
She did not.
'I don't like him.'
She'd say,
'Too snoody. Too poor.'
'Too rude. Too short.'
She did not like any of the men,
Until one day:
Adam Berckley arrived in the home,
With his daughter, who was the girl's age.
'I'd like to marry your daughter.'
Adam smiled,
'Let me ask her.'
The father would smile.
'Yes.'
The girl finally agreed,
But only so that she'd
Be able to see
Adam Berckley's daughter.
They were lovers, see,
But in the modern day,
Several hundred years later,
The girl and her husband's daughter
Were mere close friends. Pals. Mates.
But they were lovers.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry By Me! (Morgan, he/him)
PuisiThese are poems that I write. My pen name is Morgan, so call me that! Also, I use he/they pronouns and love to write. Please, if you find any you particularly like, let me know in the comments! I plan to publish some of this in a book, just need to...
