Our Girl Florence, by Marie Naffah
There’s a girl I know called Florence,
Who on first impressions, seems shy
She carries her secrets till asked nicely
then throws them out to the sky.
She cries the Arno and cradles the streets,
Grabbing espressos to go,
Serving us bread that she never eats,
She’s watching her figure, young Flo.
She’s got friends who stay so close to her,
Like Siena, who lives next door,
They’ve known each other since childhood,
Maintaining a sturdy rapport.
She’s a fan of poetry, a fan of the culture-
A sucker for all types of art,
She’ll lose herself in piazzas,
And David- don’t let her start.
She’s getting old, our girl Florence,
But they say that beauty will come with age,
She writes her own stories, our Florence
-She let me write my own page.
As I turn my back on this wonderful girl,
It shall never fully be turned,
For she taught me a thing, or two, or three,
In the lessons that I have learned.
So we’ll meet for cappucini before midday,
When I’m older and I’m going grey.
But for now all that I have to say is:
It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Miss Florence.