he’ll hold her hand

(a song of necessary restraint in iambic pentameter)
by robert r. cargill, july 12, 2005

and she stood tall a head above the rest
ne’er introduced yet minds so coalesced
from first to last he’d met his match within
he’d met her not but somehow she knew him
the awkwardness of beginnings anew
the joy of hope brings sense to thoughts construed
the fascination of discovery
finds match of intellectual degree
she looks at him and smiles with kindred heart
with crooked smile he returns glance in part
a chemistry with friend so newly made
yet swallowed much of what he wished to say
leaves what he feels with much anxiety
unsaid for fear of impropriety
that obvious to them is left unsaid
for fears of hearts on which he fears to tread
embattled is his mind shy yet well-versed
which errs upon the side of safety first
he wants to say so much to friend so new
but life’s dashed hopes have taught him to subdue
connection undeniable to all
yet complication causes love to stall
he toys with notions of confessions grand
defying sensibility’s demands
he looks away but yet he is drawn near
her heart of compassion he so reveres
attraction undeniable must breathe
for love’s last hope the sword must not be sheathed
but realizes he the truth of love
that grace and honor trump the push and shove
true love does pressure not those in its sight
but patiently awaits and does invite
readied extended hand sincerely waits
for time when love from head to hand translates
he’ll hold her hand when mutual time is right
he’ll draw her near in arms embraced so tight
he’ll wait for her to work through mind unsure
and offers life and love and home secure
he hopes she’ll choose the risk of life with him
for only then does life make sense again

(c) 2005 robert r. cargill

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One Response

  1. Sounds a lot like The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock – who is good poet’s company to keep!!!

    Time for you and time for me,
    And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
    And for a hundred visions and revisions,
    Before the taking of a toast and tea.
    ~ T.S. Eliot

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