Was it a whim, a little flit?
Why, when I see his eyes and they see me
Does my heart not seem to be.
it stops or even ceases to exist
when I glance into those eyes of his.
Those deep brown eyes, those liquid eyes
I find that I'm in ties
My heart aches and rends itself
I want to hit myself
I think that I'm in love.
But no! I have another dove
A vow to not give myself away.
And yet perhaps I may
Allow myself to love another boy.
Lest I become another's toy.
I feel tormented as though torn
By wild bulls
In two, Or pieced apart by gulls
Till I wish I'd never been at all.
--Patience Collier