The Middle Muddle
It is neither here nor there
‘Love’, heading nowhere
Somewhere between
Youthful passion
And aged restraint
At times, a little devil
At times, a little saint
The age wrong
The parties wrong
The wait- ever so long
That Hamlet like dilemma
‘To be or not to be’
“Willing to wound,
But afraid to strike,” you see
Those innocuous rendezvous
Apparently looking risky
‘Tarry’, she implores
But he,
Ever ready to flee
Should not be seen
Should not be observed
Thus, little of action
More of words
Want to know
‘What is it’?
Well, let’s call it
‘The Middle Muddle’
And, thus, a vain chase
For that love bubble
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