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We walk the meadow, hand in hand,
Dandelions at our feet,
Our friends wouldn’t understand,
So it’s secretly we must meet.
We know that we should ignore them,
And laugh at their foolish ribbing,
Just brazenly strut before them,
With no subterfuge or fibbing.
It pains me to pass you each day,
Without folding you in embrace,
Without letting my fingers stray,
To lift that loose lock from your face.
We remain undemonstrative,
Whenever others are around,
Obliged to be so secretive,
Though our hearts with love abound.
Yet, true love is a private thing,
Not to be the object of mirth.
For us, not a casual fling,
Joy of inestimable worth.
The day must come when they will know -
We’ll tell them, and all will be fine.
Meanwhile, we’ll give love time to grow,
For I am but ten and you nine.
© By RickMack (Rmrickmack@aol.com)
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