Love is precious, but it's also difficult, and it has it moments of insanity. |
She was searching for happiness. Did she find it? A Writer's Cramp entry: a triolet, 4 stanzas on happiness Happiness Like restless children, they all clustered about her, Asking her to sing or to sign one more autograph. They treated her as if she were sweet cherry liqueur. Like restless children, they all clustered about her: The voyeurs, the amateurs, even her own chauffeur, Her countless fans, the novelist, the doctor, her staff. Like restless children, they all clustered about her, Asking her to sing or to sign one more autograph. But I, her lover, I’d become the worst of the bunch I ignored all her pleas, my darling, sweet Genevieve, While I dallied with the ladies, taking them to lunch. But I, her lover, I’d become the worst of the bunch I should have known better, should have had a good hunch That she was so unhappy and preparing to leave But I, her lover, I’d become the worst of the bunch I ignored all her pleas, my darling, sweet Genevieve. What does it take to push your love off the edge? Why was I sightless and so immune to her tears? I thought I’d done all when I gave her my pledge. What does it take to push your love off the edge? I was cruel, but I never thought she’d jump off that ledge. And now I’ll love her forever throughout all my years. What does it take to push your love off the edge? Why was I sightless and so immune to her tears? Perhaps she found happiness, gazing up at the moon. Swathed in her furs, as usual; she was quite risqué. For her body was nude inside that fuzzy cocoon. Perhaps she found happiness, gazing up at the moon While holding my old guitar that was never in tune. Though I’d given her diamonds and an orchid bouquet. Perhaps she found happiness, gazing up at the moon Swathed in her furs, as usual, she was quite risqué. |