More than thrice I dreamt of you,
The little girl with whom I used to play;
You whom I no more can view,
Your child-like image in my dreams so gay.
Now and then of you I dreamt:
A sweet child standing beside the school-gate;
Oft, too, in our classroom realm
Laughing together, forgetful of hate.
Why I dreamt of you: or loved
Deep in my subconscious the lady-child
Who resent’d me, with me strove;
My childhood playmate I fain reconcile.
But change I must the word “love”
For my love was nought but mild affection
And this I would like to prove
Mild affection was not infatuation.
I thought of you with kindness
And without any inward youthful fire;
My schoolmate, your aloofness
Did I silently regard and admire.
Perhaps, your image with me
Is still the one formed in Primary Four;
Innocent and young were we
Sitting side by side near our classroom door.
My memory is fresh and bright,
Of days and years by the wind blown away;
My message, hope, is no fright;
Perhaps, you think my head has gone to lay.
But I write with affection,
My ink mixed with the early morning dew;
Here I send, not in fashion
My message of goodwill
And God bless you!
P/S:
To our future I drink here
A glass of water clear – cool, refreshing;
May one day your face, my dear,
I see with the warmth of old remaining
May 29, 2019
May 29, 2019 at 2:50 AM UTC
More than thrice I dreamt of you,
The little girl with whom I used to play;
You whom I no more can view,
Your child-like image in my dreams so gay.
Now and then of you I dreamt:
A sweet child standing beside the school-gate;
Oft, too, in our classroom realm
Laughing together, forgetful of hate.
Why I dreamt of you: or loved
Deep in my subconscious the lady-child
Who resent’d me, with me strove;
My childhood playmate I fain reconcile.
But change I must the word “love”
For my love was nought but mild affection
And this I would like to prove
Mild affection was not infatuation.
I thought of you with kindness
And without any inward youthful fire;
My schoolmate, your aloofness
Did I silently regard and admire.
Perhaps, your image with me
Is still the one formed in Primary Four;
Innocent and young were we
Sitting side by side near our classroom door.
My memory is fresh and bright,
Of days and years by the wind blown away;
My message, hope, is no fright;
Perhaps, you think my head has gone to lay.
But I write with affection,
My ink mixed with the early morning dew;
Here I send, not in fashion
My message of goodwill
And God bless you!
P/S:
To our future I drink here
A glass of water clear – cool, refreshing;
May one day your face, my dear,
I see with the warmth of old remaining