Call, Call, Call... Poem by maddy macleod

yea,
i like him.
will he ever know?
i hope not,
but i hope so.

i love the way he smiles,
laughs,
cries.

he's beautiful.
a small blue stone surrounded by black and gray.
he is perfect.

i sometimes ask myself,
'why do we have this feeling,
of hope and joy,
excitement and secret, love? '

i wait for the phone,
to ring and come up with his name.
he would studder and i would settle him.
he would ask that question that i've always wanted to hear.

i'm still waiting here,
sitting by the phone.
call, call, call...