Since Sunday school been mild and meek
Maladroit at playing at love’s hide and seek
From the touch line watched my heart beat
While my coach advised me, “Be discreet”

Then of a sudden an uninvited thought
That you might be the one I sought
No longer lost in love I can’t care less
And rest at last content to go to press

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on November 13, 2016, in Poetry and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. that’s a load
    off one’s
    chest 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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