ON THE TRAIL OF A FACE

Her golden face on Marie Claire
gave birth to such inflamed desire
that I pursued her everywhere:
to make things worse, I fanned the fire.

And when I phoned her, down the wire
a voice as hot as her blond hair
replied. I said I did admire
her golden face on Marie Claire.

She slammed the phone. I did not care.
In her pursuit I could not tire.
I gazed at her. Her panicked stare
gave birth to such inflamed desire.

I tracked her through Scots bogs and mire
and over mountains, layer on layer.
She told the law in old Kintyre
that I pursued her everywhere.

Injunctions followed. I declare
I seethed and rated my love higher
than her own life. I torched her stair;
to make things worse, I fanned the fire.

However, she did not expire.
She fell, and I became aware
she was ablaze. My rage was dire,
for she had burned, to my despair,
her golden face.