Will she come when I need her,

Will she accept me as I am,

She professes that I am hers,

Even without knowing who I am.

She is young, brave and pretty,

She is nice to chat with, radiates beauty,

Filled with warmth are her words,

Will she be so when I am seen and heard?

Innocence is her essence, she is

Untainted by caprice or vanity,

So pure and angelic is her grace,

What if she meets me face to face?

I wish we two had met long before,

When I too was as young as she is,

Ah, if I had known this soul before,

Would I have ever wished for more?

Betrayed and lonely, on my own -

She consoles; insists with a mock frown,

That I am hers and she is mine,

Is this why I have been left alone?

Author's Notes/Comments: 

An instant outpouring of sentiments on September 22, 2002...thanks to a ray of light...brimming with Platonic fervour.

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strawberrylagoon's picture

Muhammad, this was awesome...I enjoyed reading...