He watched as she passed each morning,
Same time, each day of the week,
But his lips were dry and his tongue was tied
And he found he couldn’t speak.
She had such a heavenly beauty,
That he’d raised her up on high,
So how could he, a poor mortal seek
Such a goddess, up in the sky?

Her hair the colour of ripened corn
Her lips the pink of the rose,
The dimple sitting in either cheek
And the tilt at the end of her nose.
Her eyes would flash as she passed him
In that wonderful glide and sway,
He almost spoke, but he always choked,
And cursed as she walked away.

While she kept steadily walking,
She never would look around,
Though the sight of the young Adonis made
Her heart pit-patter and pound.
He looked like a Grecian statue,
From the Pantheon of the Gods,
Why would he spare a glance at her
With her features all at odds?

For the blonde was out of a bottle,
And her eyes, they must have looked scared,
She tried to appear so nonchalant
And not that she really cared.
But she walked that way each morning
Just to get a glimpse of him,
Hoping he’d say one word to her
That would be encouraging.

The days passed on through the Summer
Then Autumn had come to stay,
And he still stood each morning
And she still walked that way,
But he paced in desperation,
Chewed his fingers down to the bone,
‘When would he pluck the courage up,’
She thought, as she passed his home.

They seemed to be making progress,
For they’d nod as she walked by,
But he didn’t see as she raised her eyes
Frustrated, up at the sky,
She’d put on a brighter lipstick,
Mascara, as black as coal,
While he despaired as she disappeared
At the emptiness in his soul.

He practised before the mirror,
And tried out a ‘How are you?’
But shook his head at the words he said,
It simply wouldn’t do!
What if he came straight out and cried
The thoughts he felt in his heart,
‘I’ve fallen so much in love with you
That it’s tearing me apart!’

While she broke down in the ladies room
The moment she got to work,
Her friends came gathering round to say,
‘He must be a total ****!’
But she flared back to defend him,
‘I think that he fancies me,
He stands and nods like a Grecian God
But his face is misery!’

The morning came that he steeled himself
And walked right into her path,
While she stood still as she broke a heel
And sat with him on the grass.
‘You can’t go to work like that,’ he said,
‘My name, by the way, is Bill.’
‘I often wondered,’ she smiled at him,
‘And mine, by the way, is Jill.’

David Lewis Paget