He liked the woman he spied
Of college age that caught his eye…
And shaped just right,
He might steal her from her guy…!
A gingerish hue to her hair,
With glasses no beauty impaired…
If it came to will,
He’s over the hill
But happy to view her right there.
Good thing, that’s all it will be,
She may even read poetry…
‘Tween looks at her cell,
Then clear as a bell
It’s time for her ride and she leaves.