He has this way about him
I can not tell you who...
He makes me smile
Although a face before me
(Nor a voice to console me)
Has yet to make an apperance
I imagined the perfect day
When an undercover friend
(Whom to turn to in the end)
Has been everything I hoped
Picture the sun peeking through
The glass whispering all in tune
All the trees swaying in the wind
(I, of course breathing without end)
In that chair which seats a lonely two
Reserved just for me and you
(Upholstered in a fine wine and smooth to the touch of a naked finger tip)
So, where to sit on a snowy day?
When all has seemed to go my way
Turn to face the chiming door
(All a dream that sits within)
Reality of the lonely
And picking up my books to go
Whom to bump into but him
I can not tell you who...
Is this it? The dream which makes a tale
Chiming door still left open
And single paper on the loose
(Nervous so I cup my necklace)
He returns the smile I implore
Together a stoop toward a marble floor
Staring into the most gorgeous eyes
Recollection of the embarrassing kind
(We grab the same paper ascending a rise)
So a bashful glance down I give
Accompanied with a gentle appraisal
He unfolds hsi modesty to me
(Which any polite man would do)
After he fulfills his deeds
The time arrives to leave
Here is that way about him
That causes me that smile
He says to hope to meet again
(I with none to complain)
There to make the turn
The last to chime the door is me
A smile and a tiny wave to him
Though, I can not tell you who...
2002