Strange And Shy (Poetry)

He was the one she didn’t kiss
the one who was too shy
the one whose words were few and small
he wouldn’t meet her eye

The other girls ignored or teased
according to their whim
not meaning to be cruel they felt
no interest in Tim

Too quiet, too serious — they judged
him clearly not much fun
a loner and a mummy’s boy
the doted only son

And Tim just drifted ... unattached
he made no friendship’s claim
on anyone and let them think
he viewed them much the same

Until that summer — late July
the night the heatwave broke
it was as if Tim’s nature slept
when sudden storm awoke

some inner passion — raw desire
and clear out of the blue
like lightning struck so quick and fierce
he knew what he must do

The one he’d yearned for through the years
beyond his modest reach
the goddess who once smiled his way
and robbed him of all speech

now called him to declare that love
despite the flooding night
the lanes awash, the thunder’s roar
the storm’s unearthly light

He faced the weather’s awesome rage
he fought torrential rain
the river rose and burst its banks
the trees thrashed out their pain

He staggered on, drenched to the bone
hair plastered, nerves near-dead
the only man abroad that night
all those with sense abed

The landscape a great battlefield
oaks toppled, fences down
and in the debris-scattered dark
Tim lost his way to town

Dawn found him huddled under roots
half-drowned — his fevered brain
rambling ... only one word clear
he hung on to her name

They nursed him back to a grey life
quite harmless but insane
he kept a diary by his side
but never spoke again

He filled his time with writing down
the only word that came
repeated line on line on line
and every day the same

Until the last when frailty drew
one long-imagined kiss (X)
beside the letters love spelled out
once more for emphasis

Sweet Lucy ... Lucy ... Lucy Jones
penned soft as any sigh
while all she might recall of him
was he was strange and shy