70% of all lingerie bought for Valentine's Day is returned to the store the following morning. FINANCIAL TIMES
Ai fel hyn y digwydd?
Y dydd ar ôl dydd Ffolant,
tyrrant, pob un i'w antur,
yn fysedd mela'r trysor;
canfod tafodau sgwâr
a'r edau gwyn yn dirwyn iddynt,
y pris tu ôl i'r parsel.
Ac ai hyn fydd y gyffes?
'Bu ef mor frwd â chredu
bod fy nghwpan yn llawn,
wir, newydd sbon yw'r fronglwm.
Ac am y bach bachigol,
amryddawn iawn yn fy llaw
ond roedd cael dwy ffolen
i gamu iddo yn rhywbeth arall
gydag agen maint morgrugyn.'
'Y meddwyl sy'n cyfrif,' meddant
yn garedig, a gwenu.
Ond fe ŵyr hi mai'r medal arall
y mae e am feddiannu.
Yna, beth am y clasur glasaidd -
'Pa ias mewn gwlad mor oerllyd,
prynu imi rhyw chwiff o shiffon.'
Ai dilead fydd nod eu cread?
Rhyw amddifaid, diofyn-amdanynt,
yn ddieithriaid mor ddiwahoddiad.
Eto, nid afraid mo'r lifrai -
y rhai llai sydd am laesáu;
na feier 'run neilon na leicra
na'r gwawn lliw siampaen
na'r basg a'i dasg
o gyrraedd gwasg,
na'r tyciau lês sy'n plymio
i fannau na wna les;
na'r gŵn nos, esgeulus wisg,
y rhai ysgafn o dras
sy'n ffars rhyw ffansi -
yn dryloywon didrylwyr.
Hepgorion rhyw hapgariad.
Ac ai fel hyn y digwydd yfory?
Diddanion, manion mwyn
ar fin ein nos yn gweld goleuni,
cyn diflannu'n wib i'w plygion
rhubanau cywrain ar ffo
yn segur ddianwes;
serch sy'n ddi-dâl ei wâl -
onid yw pob ffetan yn dlos?
Cans is ydym na'r pilyn isaf -
yn noethi'n dragwyddol,
yn camu wrth ambell sant wrth chwantu.
Yn ffaelu â help
ffolinebu am undydd
wrth ddwyn I gôl
y ffôl a'r sawl a ffolant.
February 15th
70% of all lingerie bought for Valentine's Day is returned to the store the following morning. FINANCIAL TIMES
Is this how it happens?
The day after Valentine's day,
For all those women, flocking to love's adventure?
Their fingers, fondling their treasures,
Discovering blunt-tongued labels,
The white threads leading to them,
The price behind the parcels?
Is this how she'll unburden herself?
'My man was so bold as to believe
that my cup was full to overflowing,
honestly, this bra's brand new!
And as for these - this cobweb -
I may have tricksy fingers
But squashing my cheeks into this,
Through that spider-sized gal, just isn't on.'
They say it's the thought that counts
(kindly, smiling as they say so)
but she knows that it isn't her thoughts
he wants to possess.
What about that red-light classic:
'A whiff of chiffon, in this cold country?
That's no way to give me the hots!'
Isn't their weave for the unravelling?
Unwanted, orphaned garments -
Uninvited strangers at love's feast -
And yet their rampant livery's right,
These smalls that long to expand -
Don't blame the nylon, the lycra,
The champagne-coloured floss
Nor the basque and its task
Of reaching the waist,
Nor the lace pin-tucks which plunge
To the no-good places,
Nor the rather-too-holey nightdress;
These flimsy things
Are the farce of fancy:
Transparently see-through -
The cast-offs of a chance lust.
And is this how it'll be tomorrow?
Playthings, the sweetest of nothings,
Seeing daylight at the end of our night;
Before casting off into its folds,
Leaving the intricate riboons
Silent, unstroked,
Love finds a bed where it will -
Can't some people look good in a sack?
For we are lower than our underclothes -
Always undressing ourselves,
But draw nearer to the angels, sometimes, in our passion -
We just can't help
One day's silky silliness
As we clutch to ourselves
The fool and his frills.