Her picture looked me squarely in the eye;
I swear I shook and had to turn my face.
Some broken pieces in me seemed to die;
the wall I’d neatly built gone without trace.
And when I had a closer look I saw
some ancient Nordic script etched on the ground.
A single letter blazing from the floor;
the clue to who had sparked the hope I’d found.
But yet behind my admiration’s glow
I know I’ll not be good enough for her.
Therefore of my desire she must not know
nor ever hear my inward cri de coeur.
I wonder if I’ll keep that secret vow?
Or will I someday show her anyhow?
© 2012, Alan Morrison