The Conversationalist

I met a conversationalist at the park she was keen on speaking,

That was pretty sure to broadcast to anybody,

For the sound of her voice,

For the sound of her story,

Her Collie dog was doing her best on keeping quiet,

Less arguments by this way.

The woman did not know who was listening

Or who was who

Or the end of the story

And whereabouts it it lead

And of course,

Whereabouts led to the Collie.

And the Collie's point of view

Anxiety and annoyance was mere watch-words,

Dignified and polite,

By the slow way she carried herself,

Deliberately slow,

Paws delicately placed,

Tread over tread,

The way she came up to you,

Earnestly,

Steadily,

Asking to be a friend,

Speech-defying!

© R Frank Wilson

© R Frank Wilson