Poor David

She knew him as a photograph
A poster on the wall
She had a suitcase full of him
But never knew it all

She didn’t go to stadia
To squeal with all the rest
Because she quietly supposed
He always loved her best.

The magazines presented him
With silky hair and smile
That promised her the moon and back
And stayed there for a while.

Poor David was a superstar
Who sang to her alone
But never came down from the wall
To call his very own.

Published by

Julia Dean-Richards

Julia is a writer and performer living in the Shropshire hills. Her writing is a product and expression of the love she has found whilst journeying through the most difficult times of her life.

2 thoughts on “Poor David”

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