Beautiful woman

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?