Lost Loves
I cry when I think of the loves lost,
Embraces missed, hands not held;
While I encased my heart in frost,
Whither nice young men repelled.
The fresh boy who remembered,
Me from our old primary school;
I wish now I had surrendered,
And not dismissed him as a fool…
The teen who wanted to take me,
To the final-night feast at camp,
He was vastly too short you see,
Although a very lovable scamp!
The classmate who collected essays,
For me from the marking pile -
And lingered to give me praise;
Wish I asked him to stop a while.
The earnest young student who waited,
To talk after Friday social-tea,
He is one I ought to have dated;
But I thought him too pious for me.
Taller, smarter, or just plain weird,
I saved myself for him who loved not;
Leaving the sweet boys who appeared,
To find other girls to tie the knot.
When I grew wiser I knew to miss,
The fine menfolk I had passed by,
Lost many opportunities for a kiss,
As I had a crush on the wrong guy.
11/5/2017
Copyright © Cecelia Hopkins-Drewer | Year Posted 2017
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