Sunday, 12 March 2017

A Past Poem For Clare.

I feel sorry for you without love, and your temper flares,
So why do I feel inclined to hold your hand, to talk softly,
To sooth your fears of a cruel world without its cares,
And to express a loving friendship to nurture gently.
But you’re not rational, and might misconceive,
So I’ll leave these thoughts to dwell on and on,
And in time when you come to believe
In faith, trust, friendship, then I will turn from being gone.

You are beautiful, a lady to behold, and to uplift,
A treasure to cherish, and would I offer a kiss,
I would be dishonest, as I am spoken for, but adrift,
And as I play with my thoughts, I think of the ought,
Of being a gentleman with etiquette, self taught,
So I deeply wrestle with my wants, as I am caught. 

© Andrew Stevenson 05/11/13

A sonnet.

Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.

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