Tall Bus Girl
There is a girl, a girl on my bus:
Dublin Bus number fourteen.
That tall girl who hops on my bus
Has to be one of the prettiest I've ever seen.
I see her many days but not every day,
Usually at the bus-stop standing elegantly.
Her posture combined with her beauty
Has me watch her presence that is saintly.
I can't help but ogle her,
I turn away when she catches me.
Her face is engraved in my heart forever;
I ask myself what kind of angel is she?
I see her glance at me almost every time.
But most days she does this with a smile.
What could this mean?
She acknowledges my gaze from as far as a mile.
Does she choose to sit near me on the bus
Or is it just often chance?
I don't know, but whenever she's close to me,
My heart performs not a beat but rather a dance.
The day of fate must soon come.
I must know her name and get into the game.
If I finish Rathmines knowing I've done nothing with her,
The excruciating regret shall be but an eternal shame.
Why can't I be a man and introduce myself?
We share the same college but not the same course.
When will my lovelorn cowardice come to a conclusion?
Maybe our bond could transform into a powerful force.
She glances back at me with a smile often if not more.
Could she be waiting for the open door?
My admiration for the tall bus girl may never be over
Because, only in my fantasies, she will be my one lover.
poem by Stephen Cahill Furlong
Added by Poetry Lover
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