dash

A Thin Slice of Lemon
 
half moon

Thereís a thin slice of lemon
waltzing through heaven:
the waxing right half of the moon.
And you canít help but envy
his excellent memory
and wonderful nose for a tune.

Thereís a faraway island
aglow like a diamond:
itís Venus, the queen of the sky.
And perhaps youíre the writer
whose pen can decipher
the whispers that dance in her eye.

No longer will I sleep away the morning.
No longer will I stay awake all night.
Sheíll reappear just as the day is dawning.
Iíll rise and shine as soon as it gets light.

Thereís this lad at the harbour
whoís shy of the barber
but expert at rhythm Ďní blues.
Heís a hit with the tourists
as well as the purists
but still canít afford any shoes.

We met by the bunkers
one night. I was drunk as
a tinker, the truth on my tongue.
He noticed me humming
to what he was strumming
and asked me: Had I ever sung?

Well, at first I was wary.
The prospect was scary.
I didnít dare dream Iíd sing lead.
But a spot of tuition
from this young musician
was all the permission Iíd need.

If only there was whiskey in the morning,
I wouldnít have to stay awake all night.
A pick-me-up just as the day was dawning.
Iíd rise and shine as soon as it was light.

Thereís a thin slice of lemon
waltzing through heaven:
the waxing right half of the moon.
And you canít help but envy
his excellent memory
and wonderful nose for a tune.

Thereís a faraway island
aglow like a diamond:
itís Venus, the queen of the sky.
And perhaps youíre the writer
whose pen can decipher
the whispers that dance in her eye.

No longer will I sleep away the morning.
No longer will I stay awake all night.
Sheíll reappear just as the day is dawning.
Iíll rise and shine as soon as it gets light.

Duncan Gillies MacLaurin

If you have any comments on this poem, Duncan Gillies MacLaurin would be pleased to hear from you.

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