A Cruel Tryst
He awakened to a rainbow coloured morning.
Fragmented dreams did drift about his bed,
Ghostly spectres, lingered in the dawning
Of the day this swain had promised he would wed.
Such images were born of recrimination,
Of trysts he had enjoyed and left to die,
Of hearts broken by his determination
To avoid any arrows that dear Cupid may let fly.
The searching fingers of the sun grew longer
Then joined, to fill the room with light.
The feeling of well being, now grew stronger
As those spectres of his past were put to flight.
Clearing his mind he focussed upon the new day
A day in which he swore he'd plight his troth.
He avowed to take up commerce, live a new way,
Perhaps he'd make a fortune for them both.
He made ready, dressed in his best attire,
Liberally doused, with perfumed waters of his choice
He was the epitome of a country squire
Let the angels in their Heaven, all rejoice.
He noticed not, that the streets were quiet,
Nor did he look for a congregation at the church,
When realisation came, he almost caused a riot
How could a bride leave Casanova, in the lurch!
