I'm hiding in the closet
with an angel in my pocket;
I shut the door and locked it.
Just a feeling, but I can't stop it.
My telescope between my knees,
looking for a star, but all I see
are trees.
Tell me, please,
If my eyes deceive me,
because I doubt you would believe me,
or receive me,
if I told you that it's not a he--
it's she.
She laughs a little, sometimes cries,
and her eyes
are blue as the proverbial sky.
But even I,
the wordsmith, the poet,
I don't know yet
how to show it
to the world,
that I love this girl.
Keep it quiet, keep it hidden,
but for all the reasons I have given,
still the feeling stays,
and there's nothing left to say.
