Fair maidens and their Impossible wish-horses.

On an idyllic English summer day,

in the cool shades of blossoming trees-

trying to keep somnolence at bay,

I was sipping my Indian tees.

"Oh! my hubby to be?"

gushed a dreamy voice 

with unmitigated glee,

disturbing the lovely peace.

Hearing this I turned 

to see an English rose, 

sitting with a friend

discussing her marriage woes.

"Must pack qualities

which I myself find contrasting,

I must confess at my search's futility- 

but without those, life would be boring

He should be a work-horse

but never too busy for me,

must be rugged and coarse-

and allways smooth with me.

Must, is a commanding presence-

and also to me, total subservience,

Dashing hero, thats my guy-

in the same breath, heart breakingly shy. 

Must have an eye for beauty- 

but never a roving eye,

must be a poet at heart-

but not the wastefull dreamy lot.

He should be chillingly cool

and yet flaming hot,

how to find the guy to drool-

honestly I know not."

A sigh escaped my lips

hearing those contradictions,

my heart aching from cruel nips

by these impossible wish-horses.

I raised my hat to the lovely lady 

"excuse my manners miss"

"marry this", I said, handing her my dictionary 

"unless you want to give marriage a goodbye kiss"

 

Saying this I left,

unrepentant and without a backward glance,

having delivered a touche' deft-

the fair maiden speared with the truth lance. 

(To all those roses, 

not just the english, 

who wish for heroes

with combinations devilish )