A Flower in Winter
Sometimes Love is like a blossom,
That blooms in the winter:
Beautiful, but all wrong.
That is how Love is with me,
The one I want would never,
Consider this.
Should I tell him how I feel,
He would most likely reject me,
And my friendship,
Or pretend that it never happened
And honestly,I do not know which is worse.
When I see him, my soul is torn in two,
Half maintaining my Vulcan dignity,
The other fighting to confess my emotions.
I cannot move for fear of falling.
I feel that if I do not confess soon,
It will be my undoing.
Perhaps over a game of chess,
Would be an acceptable time.
Or perhaps it would be better to keep my
Love a secret,
And not scare him away.