Your hairOn that very first day it was your hair
That caught my attention in mid-air.
It was red and bright and extraordinaire
I could only just stand and stare.
It took me but days to declare
That of face and mind you were so fair.
Did I know I would soon despair?
In those first months I would forswear
That I had been ensnared in a snare,
Of my own concoction, which stripped me bare.
Soon it was clear that you had flair
For the subjects of which I also care
I had thoughts I was eager with you to share,
But you were completely, utterly elsewhere.
I long attempted to compare
You to other chargé d'affaires,
But I found you to be so rare
That I felt even more solitaire;
Especially the days with only a chair
To stand by my side and harshly tear
The dream I had where we were a pair.
Oh I would have loved to have that affair
And perhaps, today, I would you dare –
But years have passed since that misère.
In love and war I took a nom de guerre,
And called myself Clare Astaire
Since I thought I would do well to pare
Away the memory of your debonair.
Poetry by Lea Foverskov
Read 1250 times
Written on 2008-03-30 at 01:02
Tags Love  Youth  Memory
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