A sign of the times
She knew from the start he was bad news.
There he was across that crowded room,
no roses, no manners;
a lazy croc' waiting for dinner.
She knew this! She always knew,
but still she lingered by the swamp.
Even his suit couldn't disguise the fact he was vile.
'Fancy a ‘Spritzer'? ' He'd a toothy smile.
She sipped her drink. His hand slipped round her waist.
'How's about it love' he whispered.
No style, no grace.
Well, it's a sign of the times with the human race.
poem by Ruth Walters
Added by Poetry Lover
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