She sat on favourite bench for turns of pages of laughter’s noon,
Titillated by tale of maiden rescued by her picaroon.
Who fancies these fantasies? inwardly outburst her thought balloon.
For sure, I would never fall for such lunacy of love by loon.
Then, out of autumned park, sat beside her a Kelly none too soon,
Whose queries about her book were relayed not by voice, but by croon,
Followed by breezy battle of eyes and air tipping a tap tune,
Sweeping gal away for dance play, leaving behind good-grief’s rain spoon. ; )
