Modesty
A floral parasol gave shade,
to features darkly fine and drawn.
No laugh lines marked her sweet facade,
a countenance both pale and wan.
She glided by the garden wall
and shed a tear, a wistful sigh;
the blossoms bent as if in awe,
the warblers chirped in sympathy.
I yearned to take her arm, to find
the reason for her dire distress,
but modesty prevailed.
Consumed with unrequited love
my passion full curtailed.
Copyright © Keith Bickerstaffe | Year Posted 2016
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