by Anton Wills-Eve

a href=””>Familial Feasts</a>

to a relative 

                        ANNE CESTOR

The prettiest, cutest gal I’ve seen

 ‘Come here boy’ eyes, n’ Pouting lips’,

You must know the little lady I mean.



She swings with her  arms around my neck,

Running her hands through my hair while saying,

‘Are you coming  Mister? Well then, what the heck?’



Let’s get to it lover boy before the sun goes down,

That melting, loving look as she kisses me, ‘wow,

The sort of girl I’d decorate if I had a crown.



Now the sun’s gone to bed, and the moon’s so bright

And all that’s left for me to do is what a man’s gotta do.

On a  bed of soft straw with  the moon my only light.



For this little cutie,  my own darling Anne

I’d arrange such a feast as you’ve never seen

So everyone would, go, every woman and man



Thus leaving our corner of the world to just us two

And even better than that, know what we’d do?

We’d swing though the branches of our ancestral tree

The only place you’ll find any reference to my Anne and me.

About fifty thousand years have gone by since  we first met

And still we haven’t stopped loving each other yet.


Anton Wills-Eve