N A N C Y

W I N T E R S

 

 

There's no place to cry at The Ritz

Though your heart may be breaking to bits.

For the waiter, the valet, the maid

All take part in a constant parade.

The service is shocking:

They come in without knocking

Bearing flowers and fruit and champagne

And there's really no way to complain

That, though the decor is fine,

and so is the wine,

The curtains well drawn,

delicious the prawn,

The suite quite discreet,

the bath sachet, sweet,

The one luxury unheeded

That's very much needed

Is some space

In this place for a cry.

 

 



 

 

The Room Service Blues

 
Bio
Books
Poetry
Press
Contact
Home