A Trifling Dance Poem by Olin Yeats

My lady has a wrinkle smile,
When she spots me I cannot see
So I stand there blinded for a while.
As I stand there like a post, she will come up to me.
‘How are you today? ’ is what she will say,
And I will respond, ‘I am doing well. And you? ’
Thus the dance of our words shall begin this way,
With a curtsy and a bow, this wordily woo.
We talk. I think to myself: I fancy her… does she fancy me?
Oh this uncertainty, which is stifling,
Our words take a step, dropp back, and twirl like a bee
But the words themselves are trifling.
If only I would say how I feel,
Open the flood gate of my heart, and bring forth words which are real!