AN OLD FASHIONED WOOING:

I remember that once-upon-a day, long ago when we met,

You were nothing special; my friends scathed & made a bet,

That I´d never be attracted to you & your olde-world style,

No modern clothes & hair of those times & a too shy smile,

You weren’t handsome, not very dark, nor fair & not very tall,

No glossy hair, in fact you were going quite bald, I now recall,

You wore little round spectacles upon your large crooked nose,

But my silly heart skipped a beat as you proffered a single rose.

I fell hopelessly in love with a man, who still doffed his old felt hat,

Who when entering my heart & home, wiped his feet upon the mat,

A man who stood up from the table, when I entered or left the room,

He who pulled out my chair as I sat & talked of butterflies & the moon,

That gentle man, the gentleman who bent & kissed my waiting hand,

Who would open doors & brush away life´s irritating crumbs & sand,

He who cited poetry, sang old songs, painted the sea & ancient trees,

That man of tender touch & who speaks words of the dancing breeze.

You´ve gone back to heaven now, sitting by lucky God´s right hand side,

In this neon world I stay, but without you, I would rather skulk & hide,

My dear man I miss your gentle wooing, of our very many happy years,

Your wise & softly spoken words, banishing all my sad & worldly tears,

 Protecting arm around my shoulder & the nightly rose upon my pillow,

And those evenings we spent talking, under the shady summer willow,

Now all I have are dusty hands, of your ashes I´ve sadly freely scattered,

But in your years of gentle wooing, you´ve bequeathed me what has mattered.