The Impatient Damozel
Resting on the ledge of heaven
I can see my lover, reclined below,
His sighs soft as satin and
My tears, soft mist.
I miss him so.
We are apart,
And our hearts are torn, each with
A fragment that must be borne until
Once more we are united.
And he misses me so,
He tells me often, whispered care,
His words faint in the evening air,
‘We must be together, my love, my love.’
And yet, on we go,
Him below, and I above.
‘I eat with sorrow, and drink despair, because you are not there…’
He sighs to me, so full of care.
Well, don’t drink,
And only think of how I will greet you,
If you do not eat.
You lay, facing the heavens,
Sighing my fate,
But the hour is late,
And all I do is wait.
When bored of leaning from my airy bower,
I ponder on how late the hour of your death,
How we are still apart, because of the beating of your heart.
You spend so much time whispering how you wish to be with me,
Yet seem to do nothing to make it thus.
Topple under an omnibus,
Fall from a bridge, a pier,
Be accidentally skewered by a spear,
Enrage a bull, or horse,
There is always lye, of course,
Take to gin, fall down steps,
Poke at wasps, kick over skeps,
Embrace a man who has a cough,
That’s a safe bet to carry you off.
Go out in the rain without a coat,
Wait for a storm to sail your boat,
There are a thousand ways to go,
Drink the water in Soho,
Open the cages in Jamrach’s shop,
Along comes a tiger and off you pop,
It’s the least you can do,
After all, I long to be with you,
And you with I, as you whisper still,
Reclining, not even vaguely ill.
I died when young and so attractive,
You are still handsome, be proactive,
And end my blessed wait, my love,
With you below and I, above.