Kevin Michael Bloor

Lorraine, My Lady Love

Lorraine, she is my lady love

And there is none I hold above

No other mortal mademoiselle

Could cast on me as strong a spell

 

To hold me in this dreamlike state

Where I would sit for years and wait

Till tide churns up the ocean floor

Her bottled note, to wash ashore:

 

Love’s messenger, to wish me there

Beside her, in Calypso’s lair

To hear my sad, sweet singing bird

My nightingale, not mockingbird!

 

Her song’s the sweetest sorrow’s sung

It sounds serene as church bells rung

With clang of comfort to console

This sorry sinner’s mortal soul

 

Lorraine, she is my lady love

On wings she soars and sails above

Her music, like the spheres in space

Spreads smiles upon this sinner’s face

 

And in this bag of aging bones

She melts the heart set hard as stones

Then calls me back to be a child

When love was wonderful and wild.