On Condy Sherna Lea
by Kay Tiperi

One morning on the radio playing
was Katy Perry, and she was saying
that she would love some lucky one on Condy Sherna Lea.

Turning up the volume, looking baffled,
while coffee, tea and pancakes were snaffled,
I gazed from the window and thought on Condy Sherna Lea.

Some Celtic isle, Hebridean idyll?
Perhaps a vale, a misty highland hill
of romantic significance for lovely Katy P?

Hoots!

Hoots!

Or did I hear only a Mondegreen?
(Where when the lyrics are finally seen
it’s not this guy that’s being kissed but the sky, excuse me?)

Or – a common problem of songwriting –
Katy was struck by syllables fighting.
No sacerifice as long as it fits the tune OK.

Like Rihanna, she might tell a fella
he can stand under her umberella
among the rainswept greens and greys on Condy Sherna Lea.

Perhaps. Perhaps I’ll never get to know
what place – or maybe person – haunts her so,
but I for aye’ll be taunted by ‘On Condy Sherna Lea’.

Next week: Katy lights four candles.

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