GIRL OF MY DREAMS


I stood transfixed when I saw her,
The woman of all my young dreams.
Beauty compared with no other,
Will Shakespeare could have written reams.

Her dark bobbed hair lustrously sheen,
Fair skin flawless, seeming to glow.
No, never before had I seen
Female perfection head to toe.

If I waited, she’d walk away,
But if I spoke she’d think me brash.
And what words could a stranger say -
I mustn’t do anything rash.

She looked about, as if waiting
For somebody to soon arrive.
If I kept on hesitating,
She’d leave and I couldn’t survive.

I had known her all of my life,
Though we had never met before.
I had pictured her as my wife
With features I’d come to adore.

Her attire was neat and plain,
A simple dark skirt and white blouse.
Clearly, the woman wasn’t vain,
We’d need few mirrors in the house.

Soon, I realized I was giddy,
Delaying would get me no place.
If she walked off, more’s the pity,
For now I had viewed her true face.

My life would hence be consumed
With the knowledge of what I’d lost.
For me happiness would be doomed -
Misery would be the high cost.

Steeling myself to approach her,
Feigning to ask for directions.
Would she think me an encroacher
Intruding on her reflections?

I drew near, and she turned slightly.
I tried for a most winning smile.
Her golden nametag gleamed brightly –
"Sister Anne" just wasn’t my style.



© Richard McCusker



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