A movie, will she go? 
An answer I 
may never know; 
too shy. 
I want to tell her how I feel, 
but my mouth stays shut, dead. 
There seems to be no way to deal 
with her, and not turn red. 
A date, with me? Why sure. 
Perhaps I'd hear this sound 
if I could really ask her, 
but not with shyness around. 
Emotion moves me toward her; 
shyness quickly pushes me 
away, with a stir. 
To tell her, I wish I was free. 

November 1984