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In the Shadow of A Young Poet

With a flourish of wrist and a brandish of pen,

He threw his words down on the paper,

And I thought to myself, how lucky is he,

To have had his heart so strongly moved,

That he felt so compelled to shape into words,

The rhythms of his longing soul,

To trace on the page the beats of his heart,

And pine for the grace of her love,

I looked all about but ne'er did see,

In any of the faces around,

Anyone who caused such a stirring in me,

Though I practically pushed my heart forth,

And I begged of myself, 'Feel in your breast,

The beat of a love that is yours',

But all that I felt, Was the sweet kiss of loss,

As I stood in the young poet's shadow.

smiley - rosesmiley - rosesmiley - rosesmiley - rosesmiley - rosesmiley - rosesmiley - rose

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Kate Schechter

18.07.02 Front Page

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