Feeling foolish, imbecilic,
Clutching flowers in his hand,
He somehow marshals, like a brave boy,
All the courage at his command.
Knocks quite softly, taps the doorbell,
Dreads the moment she appears
If he leaves now, before she answers,
He won’t confront his deepest fears.
The door is open, she regards him
With a pleasant, puzzled air.
He thrusts the flowers out before him
As if to show why he is there.
Then from within him, he is saying
The words he tried so long to hide,
Words he’d practiced, nine times over,
Until they could not stay inside:
“I love you madly, I will love you
Until all life is at an end.”
With a smile, she passes sentence:
“I shall want you for a friend.”
A blog about all the arts, including politics
"for 'twere absurd to think that nature in the earth bred gold, perfect in the instant;
there must be remote matter." - Ben Jonson
"I don't know what the question is, but art is the answer." - Guy Conner