They met, in London's Springtime haze
and entered into a short phase
of snap assessment of each other,
as if they'd hoped to find a brother,
or, rather an attractive sister.
The one who's called (by Allan) Mister
looked just exactly like I'd dreamed,
moustache and all, his features beamed,
although I 'd guessed a smaller waist
and next to him old fate had placed
Gina, who smiled, (what could she do)
good looking truly was the crew,
mischievous face there on the right
well, I do think, some day I might
be lucky to be in the middle,
and if you want, I'll bring my fiddle.
Herbert Nehrlich
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poets-meet-in-london/
