Crush (Poetry)

I remember walking past his house
and gazing down that long front lawn
to where he lounged on deckchair stripes
and read or dozed. My eyes were drawn

to marvel — as though time rolled back
revealed a lithe young man in shorts
and browned by sun — the champion
of school and local tennis courts.

So charasmatic, charming, warm —
a smile that chased all clouds away
and like good wine, he just improved
age didn’t spoil but streaked with grey

pure silver strands amidst the dark
and wrinkles kind around each eye
deepened, while his heart shone through
to captivate the world. And I

held close for years my secret pash —
a tender silly-schoolgirl thing —
though he’s been dead these twenty years
I ache when I remember him.