Fair Exchange
We collided that day in the market,
old fart and a pretty colleen.
Your eyes were the green of an emerald,
Your long tresses as red as I’ve seen.
Your keen hands, at the time, slipped my notice-
as they pilfered my wallet away.
If you don’t mind, dear, I’d like back my photos.
The cash you earned, making my day.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Added by Poetry Lover
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