Posted by: Ron DuBour | January 18, 2015





I came from far North,
I spent days generally around,
And now here I am
Haunting her home.
As I wait to see her blond hair
I’ll pluck a rose that she’ll smell.

Oh will she come? I freeze!
And when she comes smiling,
Will that be a bomb
Hidden behind her teeth?
Or will it be because
She’ll just be glad to see me?

Will my frightened face remain silent
Like that shinny jeans I wore
On my award winning day
Which had an open wide fly
That did not mean to harm
But went ahead and harmed?

From her wide set eyes
To the teeth she washes in milk
To her blond hair, then her beauty.
I with only two eyes,
What shall I look?

Between passion and love
What path shall I take?
This door of foregone memories,
And that of a new enchanting future
Which one shall I open
And sit back to enjoy air conditioning?

Well, at least everyone is free.
If I make a fool out of myself
For dreaming like a fool,
You, the watching trees! Let me.
For it will be within my rights

Besides, my life story and hers
Is an already written story
Of which neither I nor her
Can rewrite.

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