ENGROSSED IN ILKLEY.

My fine white black friend
Had the good grace to lend
Me his car for the whole of one evening,

And being in receipt
I proceeded to meet
My lover whose apparel was pleasing.

We met in her local,
Which was somewhat parochial,
But was fired with inspired conversation,

And we sat at the bar
In a place not so far
Away from our nights destination.

We looked through the past,
At the people amassed,
And discussed the results of affection,

Then went on our way,
And returned to our play,
In the back seat of a loaned French connection.

But it ended as usual
With time’s quiet refusal
To grant us the rest of its leisure,

So we’ll wait till we meet
Later on in the week
To displace for the sake of our pleasure.