Smiling behind the stand in the bookshop,
She looks just as beautiful as always.
Lovely and delicate like a snowdrop,
I cannot help but to long for her gaze.
Like a dahlia, she vibrantly shines,
Much softer and sweeter than lavender,
And stronger than the sharp thorns on the vines.
But I know that I could never tell her.
So, I peruse the novels and the rhymes,
Quietly wishing that she’ll look my way.
Until the twinkle of the front door’s chimes
Welcomes a handsome man with a bouquet.
He strides inside and then kisses her cheek.
I look back at my book, quiet and meek.