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Poem

I COULDN’T TALK ABOUT IT SO I WROTE A POEM

For months I had worshipped her;
But only from afar.
A girl with that star-quality
Would not look twice at me.
I’d watched her across the classroom
And on the playing field.
More that once I had almost approached her
But couldn’t bring myself to speak.
I would only have blushed and stammered.
And then came inspiration.
I would write her a poem.
I thought of writing a sonnet.
That’s a romantic form.
But that would have called for rhyming
And rhyming can get in the way.
Of what you are trying to say.
And, anyway, the rhymes for ‘love’
And ‘desire’ and ‘heart’ and ‘soul’
Had been used a million times before.
So I opted for free verse.
I would just say it as it was.
The opening line was corny, I confess,
“There is a girl,” I wrote,
“Who makes my every day worthwhile.”
And then I extolled her virtues.
Her flaming, chestnut hair,
Gently caressing her neck.
Her startling hazel eyes
That sparkled every time she smiled.
The gaiety of her laughter.
I didn’t mention her shapely legs,
The swing of her hips,
Or her burgeoning bosom.
Not at this stage.
That might have given her the wrong idea.
Rounding off with a hint of my hopes,
I slipped it into her school bag
At the end of the day.

The next morning she met me
At the school gate, poem in hand.
She was very touched, she said,
And flattered too.
But, if I wanted to win her love,
I would have to work harder.
My poem was fine as far as it went.
But it didn’t even rhyme!

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