Sweet, Why Ever Did You Give In? Poem by William L Roberts

Sweet, why ever did you give in?
The sun that newly lights the curtain,
Oh that it could be the sunset
With you'n I sitting in the bar again!
Your hair brushed -
Not spread across the pillow,
And all that lies revealed -
Again so neatly dressed.
And the night - oh that it hadn't happened, yet.

The beer tasted of release.
Down the table a marketing type called,
'Here's to the team! We're up and running! '
As I drank I quietly added,
'And here's to a life of dreary maintenance.'
Across the table you laughed,
'That's our penance for success.
No number of birds in the bag
Are worth a single one on the wing.'
Our eyes met across the table,
You looked down, perhaps because of the sun
That shown through the window,
I knew when next I pressed,
For whatever reason,
You'd say yes.

Lucky's the politician who's always running,
Lucky's the greyhound with his fake rabbit,
He chases, but he'll never catch it.
Lucky's the explorer,
Each new bay, when it proves a river,
By disappointing, prevents disappointment.
You open your eyes
And I know that old Henry Hudson
Should've bagged it
And bought a house on Long Island.