And yet a spirit still and bright
Walked the length of our street,
A golden, shining, superior type
Of person with whom to meet
I crossed the road, nodded to her,
Gave a friendly little smile,
But she scarcely noted my overture,
Made me feel quite small for a while
I saw her again on Thursday night
As EastEnders neared its close,
So I knew she wasn't a TV fan,
More cultured I supposed.
What was her name I asked myself,
Was it cool romantic and rare?
A golden name of soft delight
A name to go with her hair?
I later heard she was Kylie Brown
From a street just off Park Road,
She had two kids by a married man
Whose name was Barry Snoad.
What's in a name, I mused when I knew,
And a couple of kids on the side?
What's inside matters far more,
Such as warmth and beauty and pride.
But Barry Snoad was a bit of a prat,
So what did that make Kylie Brown?
I simply had to talk to her,
I’d begun to feel let down.
One evening as darkness began to fall
I stopped her in the street,
To ask what kind of life she led
But she turned as white as a sheet
"Piss off" was all I heard her say
As she ran off in a bit of a lather.
After that she changed her route,
So what did she see in old Bazza?