Today Quentin presents a sad and tawdry rhyme.  Our Editor has words at the conclusion.

The Pilgrimage by Quentin Cockburn

Tween the stacks of the Centrale Nucleaire, and the mighty Garonne
In single file they, the pilgrims trudge, untied by talk, laughter, song
In pilgrimage, they stoically plod, alone with self, alone with god
I wonder from those shielded brows, do their thoughts concur with ours?

If I may make one observation, I entertained a pretty pilgrim in conversation
Straining for an epithet obscure and witty, I mused; for pilgrimages? far too pretty
And just for a moment our eyes they met, for pilgrims it’s as close as they get
And whilst that awkward pause ensued, I imagined fancies coarse and lewd

She looked askance, and in dull retort, I asked; ‘and what do you do for sport’?
Without any pause, nor inhibition, she replied ‘tis my destiny is to see a vision’.
I knew at once our paths diverged, our footprints, they would never merge
I bad her well, and with kind regard I was hoist upon my own petard.

Comments by Ira Maine, pcbycp Poetry Editor:
I think Quentin’s poem penitential is first class. However I do think that he should have persisted in his pursuit of the penitent’s pudenda. Even from here I could tell she was going to crack…