I wrote a poem for him alone then wished I never did.
I only have myself to blame and now I feel ashamed.
My love for him, to the world I confessed
They must have thought I was obsessed,
for I promised to move mountains and catch a falling star
As if I’m just taking cookie from a jar.
He read my poem but it was clear
that he really didn’t care
He wanted something so much more,
something more than I can share.
He read again the poem I wrote, he smiled the biggest smile
He said, “I didn’t notice this, it sure took me a while.”
I wondered what he meant by this,
not sure I’m catching up.
Is there something I wrote incorrectly?
I wondered what I messed up
He said, “what a fine poet you are, a very pretty way to write”
“Why don’t you and I have lunch? Let’s go get a bite.”
I did not know what to say,
was he just pulling my leg?
So I asked for the paper I gave him,
As a matter of fact, I begged
And there I saw the reason why he smiled,
why he laughed with such gist
The poem he read, after all,
was my shopping list.