She took down the book from the shelf;
it was bookmarked with a crushed flower.
She remembered the heartbreak of forbidden love,
that lasted for such a brief hour.
He was a Russian composer;
and she was just sweet seventeen.
Her inner wildness, so far lying dormant,
was suddenly plain to be seen.
Her father, outraged and pompous,
issued steam from his ears as he spoke.
"State your intentions!" he ordered,
and the Russian disappeared in the smoke.
This reminds me of a song by Elton John called Blues For Baby and Me.
ReplyDeleteI havent heard it. Must listen.
DeleteThis is delightful, Sherry. I love the story in rhyme!
ReplyDeleteGreat words and it made me smile , great rhymes - Well done
ReplyDeleteI can picture this little story! Maybe the composer goes on to write about their forbidden love? From pain comes art as they say!
ReplyDeleteRussians! You see them everywhere, and suddenly they're nowhere to be seen. I loved this ballad of star-crossed lovers, with the obligatory autocratic father, "sweet-seventeen" first love, and, of course, the vanishing Russian. ❤
ReplyDeleteSTATE your intentions! Exactly what a papa russian would say!
ReplyDeleteLove this, Sherry! I wonder what kind of smoke he disappeared in.
ReplyDeleteThe only Russian I was interested in at seventeen was a White Russian! ;) Great little rhyme, Sherry.
ReplyDelete