He doesn’t have the time, he pleads,
For long and patient wooing.
A mortal man with urgent needs,
He would be up and doing.
He’d worship for two hundred years
Your left breast, then your right,
He swears, but can’t because he fears
Death’s swift-encroaching night.
He notes how brief are human lives.
He says you mustn’t tease,
For once that chariot arrives,
You’ll have no days to seize.
Though you know joining him in bed
Is what you’ll likely do,
You’re certain romance will be dead
Before the two of you.
Chris O'Carroll
If you have any thoughts about this poem, Chris O'Carroll would like to hear them
