He was so shy, love/
was impossible for him/
without her boldness.
OR
Don’t be so shy that/
love’s impossible for you/
without their boldness.
He was so shy, love/
was impossible for him/
without her boldness.
OR
Don’t be so shy that/
love’s impossible for you/
without their boldness.
She never knew: Down/
the alley was a guy who/
had no guts to ask.
I’m intense, but get/
less so. She’s shy, but blooming./
Will we middle meet?
She erased it,
(that photo she took)
and replaced it
with one of her reading a book.
That’s ’cause she’s the Marion
who always claims she’s shy.
Beneath her veneer, she’s contrarian.
She doesn’t know why,
this somewhat naughty librarian.
If you want to look
she’ll hide her face in a book.
But hidden between Jane Austen’s leaves
are Tom Jones, and Greensleeves.
Though she’s gone libarian through life,
she’s been, underneath, really the Wife
of Bath.
(That will make her laugh).
But, unlike gap-toothed Alison,
this pilgrim would’ve settled for one.