*

How strange that I have met you here – such luck was never known,

That you should be just standing there; that I should be alone,

And now you’re here, I might suggest that it would do no harm,

If we should stay and talk awhile in rare, arresting calm.

How fortunate this happy chance that brought me to your door,

A thought that’s struck me every time I’ve wound up here before,

It’s always ‘I was passing by’ or ‘Just dropped by to ask’,

A constant quest for pretexts; it’s a ceaseless, vexing task.

How odd that though I hate it, I seek you for your tea,

You’re never as suspicious as you really ought to be,

The many times we fall in step continues to amaze,

The thousand times I meet you, in accidental ways.

______________________________

Something fairly failish that I wrote a couple of weeks ago, prompted by the number of 'chance' meetings I was having with somebody. Luckily, I don't need to make up excuses any more.

Best I could do in a haze of work and tiredness - I believe I was studying Alexander Pope's 'The Dunciad' at the time and his couplets seem to have seeped into my brain, though mine aren't heroic. I was experimenting with metre because it's much more amusing than working. It's Wordsworth, Blake and Coleridge Week this time around, but I doubt they're going to inspire me to write anything - I shall be too busy sleeping in my free time!