Wistfully I Wished Poem by James McLain

I've over heard him ask of you
why do you sell your love.
Up one street and down the next
men love me, but one can't.

Tall strong trees, a gentle breeze
wants more than love should give.
The eye can see loves wasted seed
sprouting nothing but more weeds.

Selling what I could not from her buy
holding close my love the pain inside.
And as I live and breath, I'm sure to die
no woman of the night should be afraid.