I was the worst romantic

            So she said

            For seeing colour in a field of grey

            Or hearing birdsong in cacophony

            For choosing always more to dwell

            Upon a moment

            Than to let it pass

            If it involved a tender glance

            Or sudden fetching scent

            I never had a chance 

            To set the record straight

            Before she went 

            And tell her

            That in matters of departure

            I invariably preferred

            To skip ahead