She leaves me little kisses on the back of my Rich Teas,
An extra-special Gingernut form o'er the China seas,
She strokes my cup and silver spoon and whispers in my ear,
I've save the best jam tart for you, beloved, never fear.
And yet I do not know her name but just her occupation,
I see her once at teabreak time or at the wash-up station,
She's hid behind a cloud of steam, a sullen boiler's hiss,
And yet she gives her heart to me, her smile, her soul, her bliss.
So I pass my empty cup along the row of scribbling clerks,
She holds it to her beating breast like molten Cupid's darts,
I meet her eye, I shyly smile, she whispers, love you, Roger,
And on my desk a Bourbon Crème and Raspberry Jammy Doger.
Copyright © Max Scratchmann. All Rights Reserved