By Bud Koenemund
For L.
‘Tis difficult gazing into your eyes;
Their dusky beauty doth inhibit thought –
Scrambling cognition each time I spy
Those jellied orbs – leaving my brain o’erwrought.
Undeniably, the sight is pleasing,
And anticipated, ever bright’ning
The drear I daily struggle through; easing
By some degree my gloom, e’en lightening
The spirit. In truth, I should remain mute;
Appreciating thy loveliness from
Afar – knowing my age allows no suit.
But, ‘gainst this charge, my pen cannot stay dumb.
And though by
these words the heart is betrayed,
I beg
you accept this innocent praise.
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