She sees the unwavering smile I throw her every day.

She smiles back but not with favour

I desire from her, I have toiled till I can no longer labour.

Her hands, warm, empty, not touching the potters clay

That is there ready to be moulded

Shaped, pleasingly with but a moments desire,

That would keep a flight Daedalus’s flyer.

I remain untouched, virgin paper, unfolded.

Kiss Me! I dare thee!

Hold me once during my summer days,

Passion is desired, needed, thrill me.

Let me lie in the arms of She

Before autumn comes knocking with its strange unromantic lays.

Don’t let me beg, my love, I plea.

Ian D. Hall