There was a man
His eyes were blue
His face was wan
Like he was not new,
His jaw was set,
His body locked
Told not to fret
His tears were blocked.
His mind, it raged
His heart was torn,
His emotions splayed
His smile worn.

There was a girl
Her name was Lace.
Her skirt, it twirled,
But her face was traced
Her eyes were gold,
Like honey and dew
She was never cold,
But away she flew;
Her hands were soft,
Her hair shone,
Her mind aloft
She should have known.

Now the man, he
Walks alone
Along the street,
His voice a moan
Of silent scorn
What is he?
To them, forsworn
No one to hold, she
Despises him,
And he can't believe,
He even tried -- dim
Went his eyes: aggrieved.

Lace, she skips
Through the rain,
And the tips of
Her dress attain
The dirt, but she cares not,
For she's alone -- for once,
Away from their knot:
Admirers, no silence,
None of them
Are right -- never
Her eyes like gems,
After each left feather.

The man crosses town,
The windows dark,
The clouds a gown
Over the sun, the park,
The trees, the cars;
Oh, the night,
A collection of tars,
With no room for flight
And the man dismays,
A hand over his face,
His heart ablaze
For her. Her praise.

Lace's hat is
Suddenly taken,
By the wind, his
Joke, like fiction.
So perfect it was,
When he caught it,
The man, he paused
When he knew what he'd hit.
Awestruck, he waited
For her to appear,
The one whom fate baited,
For him, my dear.

For him.