by Anton Wills-Eve


<a href=””>I Can’t Stay Mad at You</a>

the art of never regreting, begrudging or accusing.



I sought out my love of former years

With no expectations, regerets or tears

Just a hope that we might yet re-ignite

Our flames of a former summer’s night

No promises were made so none to keep

Of any binding true vows to never sleep

On my part with any fair Anne or Maude

Or she with any charming Jean or Claude

Thus on seeing her again I felt a nudge

Of love and fondness but held no grudge

At the artless way she dallied with me

Accepting my kiss almost nonchalantly

For I also could tell with my roving hand

That other fingers had explored that land

And over the years there’d been many a lip

Had found its way twixt her cup and her slip.