From the window pane above a brunette
Watches the court and its sole occupant.
Dribbling away time to catch a glance
Of her in the window, is there a chance?
Many days wasting in blissful yearning,
Many nights chasing the fire-flies burning.
Blowing off obligations to stay near
The possibility that she’ll appear.
Startled by the yell of a little tot,
Tiny messenger yells, “She thinks you’re hot!”
Two heads in the window and one is hers
Butterflies, dizzy, and my vision blurs.
We met on the deck later that evening,
And learned the art of bold face deceiving.
0 Like | 1 comment