Today there was a puzzling lot

Who rushed in when things got hot

And proceded to plague me with jibes

As they went in and out with strides



Over which they worked their game

As they quite simply tagged me lame

Then, when they made good their exit

I was left wondering what makes it



So wonderful to be loved by a fool 

Who did misunderstand, and thus pulled

Me away from banter so clean and lovely

That now I wonder what is the muddle we



Seem to have gotten into over the phone

Which now makes both - so very much alone

You send cards, and such beautiful images

I wonder how it's possible ours was pillage'd



And then you disappear amongst many shouts

That fundamentals have been shown in sprouts

And I leave then, for my day was numbered

By stress I felt, which was much encumbered



And as time went on, I began to think less

Of al those times we shared - so blessed

For a return now seemed impossible at all

Because you had made me so stumble and fall.



- Tristram