I walked into a shop today
the one across my street,
it was a quiet and timeless and quaint little place,
which sold odd lovely treats.

Quirky trinkets like teacups and lockets
could be found in this rabbit hole,
vintage gems like books and records
would be on display to show.

It was in this whimsical garage sale of a store
where I stumbled across a washed-out picture,
of a maiden dreamily blowing a kiss to the floor
with the reflection of December.

On the back of this picture
I could see faded scrawls,
of what I could assume was the story
of the maiden who blew a kiss to the floor,

"Lucy met a boy today
on her trip to the grocery store,
she was trudging through snow, wishing it was May
when suddenly he made her heart soar.

She locked eyes with a boy of eighteen,
two years elder than she,
he slipped her a wink, made her feel like a queen,
and made her heart skip a beat.

She fully intended to blow him a kiss
but hesitated a moment too long,
his friends swept him away and the chance was missed,
and so she had to move along.

The boy with brown eyes who tossed Lucy a wink,
she never saw him again,
but he'd never left her heart, to this day, she thinks
'If only I broke my chains.' "

It’s astounding how many stories of this nature
the shop across my street holds,
hidden in rustic teacups and pictures,
they could all be centuries old.

All these tales of never taking the leap
always end in remorseful regret,
because those who were shy now weep and weep,
times like these we can never reset.

If The Tale of Lucy had taught us a lesson
it would be to risk the fall,
so blow the kiss to all or none,
for the greatest risk is to risk nothing at all.