Memorandum of Love
old poem, new end. And i am now obsessed with it. Tell me about the flow, if you please. I really like the way it is, as if the thoughts are free flowing, and look back at the times "you" saw her.
The first time you see her she is pale,
As if she spent her time reading books beneath the mindful eye of the stacks at the home grown library;
While the other girls frolicked at the beach.
Her wit is amaranthine, but so is her naivety
The second time you see her
She is a wild thing.
Her voice is haunted and her eyes are deep with a despair that even the gossipers don’t know of
The third time you see her
She is cold, couth, captious.
Her eyes are forever far away;
She quotes Ferlinghetti and you fall in love,
But soon she fades away, so distant, and never returns
The fourth time you meet her
You are both standing on the corner of 5th and Juden
And she makes a cavalier comment
Of how the bus is never on time, yet never late.
And you laugh, as all who take that bus know
But soon she disappears from your sight
And your heart scorns you, for still, you know not her name
The last time you see her
She is a photograph in the newspaper, commemorating
The marriage of two, young beautiful people.
And you heart putters inside your chest
With each beat breaking a rib or two.
The first time you see her she is pale,
As if she spent her time reading books beneath the mindful eye of the stacks at the home grown library;
While the other girls frolicked at the beach.
Her wit is amaranthine, but so is her naivety
The second time you see her
She is a wild thing.
Her voice is haunted and her eyes are deep with a despair that even the gossipers don’t know of
The third time you see her
She is cold, couth, captious.
Her eyes are forever far away;
She quotes Ferlinghetti and you fall in love,
But soon she fades away, so distant, and never returns
The fourth time you meet her
You are both standing on the corner of 5th and Juden
And she makes a cavalier comment
Of how the bus is never on time, yet never late.
And you laugh, as all who take that bus know
But soon she disappears from your sight
And your heart scorns you, for still, you know not her name
The last time you see her
She is a photograph in the newspaper, commemorating
The marriage of two, young beautiful people.
And you heart putters inside your chest
With each beat breaking a rib or two.