My Love
With spiky hair and eyes that care,
How often I would smile and stare.
Ways in which you held your smoke,
A pleasure unknown to those that don’t.
Your walk; nay a stride,
Paced out with such pride.
I courted discreetly with my eye.
Gentle touch; condoned by others,
Openly embraced, we ‘came out’, as lovers.
Inseparable, too painful to be apart,
Chastised my foolish fluttering heart.
Alas; stolen by you from the start.
Pray we’re granted many more a year,
In which to cherish and hold; my dear.
Breda Ware
I like the optimistic ending…, really…