Amour

It is the Autumn of

my salad days

and longing for a mate 

other stags have now

selected their

hardy one and only.

At times we scrabbled

and strolled like

puppets in our

seeking

for that special one-

then suddenly there

she was - real

jostling like a twig

in my right eye.

Do you wish

to prance

with me my lovely in

the moonlight?

I ask,