It's That Time Of Year Again

I've just realised that this poem sounds a little pervy, but it wasn't meant that way.

It’s That Time Again

It’s summer again and the sun is quite hot:

It’s a very special time of the year,

When I’m dreaming of young bodies,

And I just want them to be near. 

Yes, the heat is on,

I’ve got the urge to be there again.

My blood is up,

And I’ve selected,

To get re-connected,

For to see them I’ve got a great yen. 

To see and hear those young ladies,

Yes -that’s what I’m hunting.

With their moaning and groaning,

Their cries, and even their grunting. 

The agony and the ecstasy,

As they show off in their short skirts,

And all in the tightest underwear -

You’d think that it must hurt. 

For, despite all of the dangers,

And the presence of strangers,

It’s clear that I yearn,

Whilst waiting my turn,

To see some darling young honey,

And to hand over a pile of my money. 

The fittest bodies are a fine sight,

Just the thing to whet the appetite.

And with every peek,

And every shriek,

And of course the sweat,

That’s what you get.

You forget,

For a year and then –

It’s Bloody Wimbledon again!

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012