He helped her
to her home
homed she felt in his company
Accompanied his pocket, a rose, a dream and a little comb
combed, groomed, he was all
set for flattery
Flattered was
she by his boyish affection
Affected was he by her
imperfect spirit
Spirited they were together, it was perfection
Perfected to be each
other’s true grit
But that
evening was as blue as blue ink
Inked on a paper, his
words took a stand
Stood on a knee, he proposed; her eyes didn’t blink
Blinked to see a Red rose
in his Right hand
Handed slyly,
the epistle was crumpled in his pocket
Pocketed back was the
truth, which tried to shock
Shocked but with no Ruth, yet she expressed fret
Fretted by her awe, he
began his talk.
Talked like a jejune, he confessed his intent
Intended something else
but he staged another act
“That was just a gift,
which you always
wish
To have an idyllic
drift,
like in poems so
bookish
That was all it was,
A moment from
tomorrow
Which you will pause,
With the one you’ll laugh and sorrow”
Acted like she believed his false sketch
She Sketched back a cordial
lock intact.
-Ashish
I could really imagine him proposing to her down on his knees! Nice!
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