Ours was a romantic paradise that was meant to be.
Something we had but didn’t really possess,
A treasure we discovered never made our own,
And a fairy-tale we lived but never got to share.
Yet we shared a bond that measured as thin as hazy mist.
The way we were was weird and wonderful,
I was the weird part and you the wonderful.
We had precious pearls we wouldn’t trade for the world.
Ours was a momentous time spent on a submerged solitary island,
And Cocsie, did I coax the hands of the clock for its rising prospect.
What about the jolly stroll we took alone out in the country,
Oh, how stunning and flowery you were every time you laughed.
The way you played hard to get – does it ever does it ever cross your mind?
My fast and furious efforts to make you catch the fever,
And you’re constant hammering of my bruised battered soul.
God knows I loved every memorable mundane moment of it.
An age of torture has passed while I waited for our exotic island,
The island which has now blossomed into a resplendent panorama,
Our dream island that intruders presently threaten to invade,
Yes, my rosy bunch, the island whose terrain has yet to be travelled,
To be travelled by the twosome who dug its trenches.
The hero and heroine who felled its forest and bridged its river.
And beseech you to safeguard it and hold it sacred.
For it is our destiny to be rich without wealth and happy without gold.
The way we were,
The way it never mattered that all we ever did was hold hands and star gaze,
But never to share a real hug or a kiss – let alone the bedroom gymnastics.