I ache,
I pine,
I yearn,
for romance.
I hope,
I pray,
I burn,
for my chance.
I cheat,
I cry,
I learn,
that it's just a dance,
that we dance,
for awhile,
until he's tired,
of me.
And can this ache,
be put out of my life,
if I imbibe unto
myself
every substitute that I
can find?
Can my chance be transmuted
into gold that I can hold
and give to all the other
people who shall not ever infatuate
my mind?
Can the need be subdued and the hunger eased,
if I find my solace for love in a cup of tea
with
grandmother?
a friend?
myself?
I believe it can.
Author notes
Written March 9th, 2006
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