Besotted

I’ve followed you out in the yard,

And then when you mounted the stair,

I thought I was watching an angel,

But you didn’t know I was there.

You moved with such elegant grace,

That I couldn’t help but stare,

You seemed so above and beyond me,

That all that I felt was despair.

We’d pass in the pit of the stairwell,

Your latté, you held in a cup,

When I’d see you coming toward me,

I’d hope, but you’d never look up.

My heart would rebound in my ribcage,

I’d turn and I’d stare at your back,

I wondered how I could approach you

And worked on a plan of attack.

Perhaps I could trip, and I’d stumble,

And push you right into the wall,

Then clutch at you, ever so humble,

And tell you that I was appalled.

At least I could get you to see me,

You couldn’t ignore me again,

But when it came down to it, clearly,

An angel’s beyond mortal men.

The love that I felt was like heartburn,

It plagued all my nights and my days,

I’d torture myself with each notion,

And plotted in various ways,

I constantly thought of your beauty,

And hardened myself to the task,

‘I wondered,’ I said, ‘ if you knew me?’

You sighed, ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

David Lewis Paget