Like the lonely sun,
passionately longing
to kiss the man in the moon,
she, the bookworm,
cannot hope to ever touch
even the dimpled chin
of oblivious him,
who has never read
Blake, Machado,
Wordsworth, or Poe
for that matter.
Even so, out from her eyes
she shines on him alone
the pure unreasoning light
of musingly sad youthful love,
all the while dreaming
day and night
how best to span
the unfathomable gulf
that lies between them.
This is an imaginative poem. I like the uncontorted flow of language, and the colorful imagery. It's one of those poems I enjoy reading outloud.
Dear William. The untouchable may have just been touched upon.Thankyou for this great piece.Love Duncan
There's nothing like the need of wanting to share a love that's fresh, new and exciting! Nice work. I enjoyed the images you depicted. Thanks. Lawrence
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
It becomes natural William. Beautiful poem and loves reach, so perfectly described. 10 from expert twinkler Tai