Girl of the month

A poem beginning, ‘April is the cruellest girl…’.

April is the cruellest girl,

A mean, obscene, conniving churl,

A trashy, imitation pearl

Whose sham outstrips her shine.

The Ponte Vecchio in spring

Was where, away on some wild fling,

I spent a fortune on a ring

Believing she’d be mine.

This done, before we journeyed home,

With sights to see and time to roam,

She slipped away, beneath the Dome

As slyly as a snake.

And so to cruel fate I bow:

She kept the ring but not the vow

And lives abroad in Florence now

With some Italian rake.