A Passing Fancy
The bell was ringing in the distance, of my existence,
but I let it ring.
Couldn’t think of a thing to say, anyway,
certainly not today.
Or any day for that matter, I didn’t want to natter to anyone.
Too many calls, then love palls.
Familiarity breeds contempt, and I was not exempt.
I‘ll let the dust settle on this affair, it’s just the way it goes,
that’s what I chose to do. Finish it, I had to quit.
He’ll forget, and once again my heart will be ‘to let‘.
It was a passing fancy, a chancy romance, and one begins
to learn and discern.
The closing of a book full of empty pages,
I think I’ll take the phone off the hook,
until fate, brings the next available mate.
poem by Ernestine Northover
Added by Poetry Lover
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