No love is as overwhelming and as pristine,
As the maiden love of a lass, say of sixteen.
When, like closed petals of a bud she begins to unfold
Herself, blossoming into a fragrant rose or marigold.
She seeks a hand to hold and wants hers as well be held,
In secluded privacy, from the outside world as if shelled.
She wants to love and be loved, to touch and be touched,
Promises never to leave the hand that she fondly clutched.
Standing on the crossroads of childhood and puberty,
She seeks a soul mate, not one who is always flirty.
She feels lonely at ...
A Bird That I Loved
I once loved a lonely bird
Who used to sing for me,
Sometimes sitting right in front,
And sometimes sitting on a distant tree.
One day the bird found a mate
And they both flew away to the Eastern sky.
I knew for sure that they went for ever,
Yet I sometimes look around with a sigh.