Fair Haired Curls. Aryan.
They came in numbers
The large Concert Square
Wanting to dance
In cool open air
Wanting to sing
Their strong beau in arms.
Far from all panic
And Monday’s alarms.
Three quarter time
Their bodies would sway
Chianti at table
To make evening gay.
Romance with touch
Romance with the Tales
Of Vienna Woods
Or sweet nightingales.
With Carmen at ringside
The bull seeing red.
And never, no never
Retreating to bed.
The summer night’s prime
The dancing en masse.
The best of the bestest.
So blondes raise the glass!
Told oft of your beauty
But pride never heed.
It’s gifted to sweet hearts
Of historic seed.
Comments
Post a Comment