France

Poem #2

There is a man from Paris, France
I happened by him once by chance,
he said I was the prettiest girl
he'd ever met before.

He took me out for ice cream cones
and then for tea and cake and scones,
we talked and joked and laughed til
we were lying on the floor.

We then went off to climb a tree,
where I was stung by an angry bee
but he pulled out the stinger with
a flourish of his hand.

The next stop was the Eiffel Tower
we stood on top for many an hour
and everybody knew we were
the happiest in the land.

But then it was time to go back home.
He said, "Next time, we'll go to Rome!"
And I said "That sounds lovely," and I
pinched him on the nose.

Because, for now, we're only friends
but even if the world ends,
I hope our friendship will be like
a tree that always grows.