By Dan B
Date: 25 September 2000

Of Kristen

My muse sits lounging in the chair:
Head bent down gazing in her book
And writing unread lines of prose.
I turn a curious glance to look,

But never will I reach the page.
For instantly my eyes are caught
By sunlight in her long dark hair
And shining eyes that see me not.

I wish my fingers could just touch
The soft skin of her smiling face,
Or kiss the pale buds of her lips.
My heart is longing for such grace!

But fearful am I of this girl:
Her thoughts are so unclear.
If I should learn her favorite song
Would all her beauty disappear?

Would knowing what lies in her dreams
Remove her aspect from my own?
Or could her thoughts and mine be same?
How can I make all of this known?

I yearn to find what lies beneath,
But fear what may bring all my lines
To write of anguish premature.
Oh for her heart my heart does pine!

Alas, for now I shall enjoy
The sweetest flower from afar
Without the hidden danger of
The thorns that cut and mar and scar.
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