You call them eyes...?
For if she were not on two feet,
or a little less incomplete,
I’d have doubted her,
to be Bambi in disguise;
A source of steroidal rise...
I felt a strangle, on my tie;
virtual wizard, down on luck,
quite a while since my last buck,
I felt a succumb of sanity,
as I saw tears go by:
It was torture to see her cry...
A mind for music, my worn-out guitar
and my newest, shining star,
from an apparently dark night,
a bit of manly might, left in me,
she stirred up a song
of sweet melancholy...
“Surly-Curly girl, smile...
Lest you want to break
me down for a while;
let your lament be a
storm to a silent sea,
and totter down to me...”
A whiff of her hair, and
I was out of my despair
in no time at all –
a neo Neanderthal,
on earth, until a dearth
of mental clarity,
I hugged her close to me...
“Surly-Curly girl, smile...
Stand on your toes and
pierce those clouds in style;
For, on the other side,
there’s our little miss sunshine,
with her golden-leaved tree,
waiting for you; waiting for me...”
My tussle with a tousled tantrum,
had stayed so long,
and would still prolong
for years to come;
working its magic, in
more than just a modicum;
my bittersweet sorcery,
she wouldn’t remember,
next November,
when she turns three;
I know I wouldn’t fuss...
And that’s because:
My surly-curly girl smiled...
with that she had me
turned to a child;
when taken off my hand,
she took my pain, with her,
fumigated with fervour…
Her dope of a hope said
that she’d be with me,
through every deed, that I do;
that she’d never bid me adieu...
I saw myself reconciled,
from being wild;
when my Surly-Curly girl
smiled...
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