Travels

Our travelling days - that trip to Heidelberg -
atop the Kohnigstuhl funicular,
snow-cold skies cutting like an iceberg;
while far below, along the river Neckar,
it's Spring. I frame the ahlte-bruke, snap
your blushing pink and hint of black lace.
And then that drunk who spoils the Leinpfad:
"I make you angry," he grunts with florid face.

Or KillyGordon - you ensconced in a field
beside the river, picnic-snug and reading,
while I'm upstream intent with rod and reel.
Until the farmer hails his evening greeting,
concerned about the bull, with looks askance -
"Honest, Love. I wouldn't take the chance".