I wish this poem were pixie dust
To throw into your eyes
And make you see the loveliness
Beneath my sad disguise.
And I would take you in my arms
And weave a magic spell
That I could utter anytime
To make you love me well.
But alas my simple words
Are like summer rain
That drums on hills and fields and hearts,
Then vanishes again.
And though my love might make you bloom,
You turn with fragile grace
To gaze in aching loneliness
At someone else's face.
We lust for what we cannot have,
A long, unbroken chain
Of lovers who remain unloved
And loved who love in vain.
While I'm near mad with wanting you
As trees must have the sun,
You cannot help but find a love
Who loves another one.
Nicholas Gordon
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