He watches her daily, pining away,
Wishing that somehow, she could be his.
Her beauty could light up the darkest of rooms,
And he watches her as she glides past him.
She fills his dreams,
And he wakes up crying.
Why can't she be his?
He leaves her flowers tucked under her windowsill,
Or resting on her doorstep,
Accompanied by love poems.
In which he bare his very soul.
But she won't give him the time of day.
She turns up her nose whenever he passes by,
So that his heart sinks even lower.
He prays daily that she might at least look at him once,
But for all his prayers, she is too good for him.
So, with eyes filled with tears,
Her writes her one last poem.
Telling her of a broken heart that will never mend,
And the girl that broke it,
Shattering him to peices.
 
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