Whose clumsiness is ever evident,
Who cannot notice slight changes of hair,
So girls are oft deprived the compliment,
I have an image in my mind that’s bent
The truth a bit. In mind, I’m just so sweet
That girls would swoon if I, by slightest hint,
Would offer up to lift them off their feet.
Yet there is one whose eyes I always meet
With looks discretely drenched in love. I fear
A life without the one whose hands and feet
I may ne’er see again after this year.
Yet of my feelings she may never know,
And so in secret I must watch her glow.
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