She stood atop the stoop,
hobnail boots rocking, her dress swaying,
and a heart now racing,
as Tom, the baker across the way, opened up.
And she, for all her dreams, and fancy,
the want of holding him near,
the scent of rising dough in his hair,
her slumber-time panacea.
A sign relented her wants despair,
he not even knowing her name,
yet she held this dream without a thought of words,
to somehow turn his head, if he could feel the same.
But alas, what could she do,
her body a barrel, her face long lost that youthful hue,
and he so dressed to impress, all starched,
his tweed and spit and polish shoes, made her back all arch.
Inside she went to begin her day,
her unrequited love, the swallow caught in her throat,
a tear held back in desperation, until Tom
the baker man did ring the bell.
Her yearning face now filled with grace,
beamed with a smile broad,
and Tom at first glance beamed back;
and robin’s in melodic refrain chirped with glee,
as light from both did fill the shop.
Two hearts thundered,
as both uttered…
Elsie, Tom at once.
Tony DeLorger © 2017