First dance, last dance, no dance.
Not to take a step,
Trying so hard, but yet intercepted by other loved ones.
Who don’t want me to move forward with my love,
My passion, my heart.
I see her everyday, and can never ask for a dance.
Her looks blind me with her beauty,
I’m struck by her brains, as they work,
Her hair, as soft as a spring rose,
Her welcoming appearance, her soft heart, tender voice.
Alas, this was is not meant to be.
Another man, who craves her love, her passion, her smarts.
I won’t receive my first dance, my last dance;
And am stuck with, no love, no passion, and no dance.
-
Author:
Henry Canticle (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 5th, 2018 21:09
- Comment from author about the poem: Yet.. as much as I see her, I can't speak to her.
- Category: Love
- Views: 13
- Users favorite of this poem: Writings From The Unknown13
Offline)
Comments1
this is a good poem it makes me wonder who the girl is that you see everyday
We shall never know...
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