Seventh grade, Newman School, a last period science class
But the only theory I cared about was that of a certain blonde lass
After careful study, over the months, of episodic observations
The conclusion was I was lost in love without any reservations
I was too shy, so we never spoke, unrevealed at the age of twelve
Such is brittle young love worthy of a study into which angels might delve
By eighth grade she was gone, transferred far far away
Where she went I never knew even to this very day
Now Google is here, and yes I did, she now lives in San Antonio
But there’s no power on this Earth that will ever get me to go
Because we now are middling aged and hardly can we be the self-same person
As those subjects in that Middle School science course, A Study on L. W*erson


About Kitt

Sometimes a rhyme or couplet wanders across my consciousness. So, I share it. Other times I'm a hospice social worker; others, a Dad; others, southerner, New Orleanian, cajun enthusiast, voter, and on better days, a not-too-awful-poet/rhymster. Welcome to my page. Enjoy.

Posted on September 27, 2012, in Poem. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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