You can only deem me silly/
since you don’t know how you’ve thrilled me./
If you only think that I amy forlorn/
because I’m missing out on your kettle corn.

You can’t imagine how frequently/
my memory goes back so completely/
to when you and I shared burnt rhubarb,/
and I felt, that evening, more like the Bard

than I had for a long time, and rarely have since./
So certain am I that I’d make you wince/
if I divulged the deepest feelings in my heart,/
I’ve decided to keep them buried in the dark.

Where I can view them from night ’til morn,/
while you think it’s silliness about kettle corn.