Shooting Star Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Still waiting by the garden shed,
no miracle has happened yet.
I wonder if she's gone to bed
or if her father will not let
her meet me this midsummernight.
I hold a rose, she waits with me,
perhaps I'm holding her too tight.
And could it be she would be free
had I not grabbed her 'gainst her will?

What if a high-fallutin' being
did swoop in for that virgin kill,
and, after touching her and seeing
this treasure who had tried to sneak
out of the house to meet her date?

All my thoughts had now turned bleak
and the hour was quite late,
then I saw, with teary eye
in the distance, oh so far,
how my little Lorelei
went heavenward, a shooting star.