Hold that glance

She looked at him
There was no longing there

     An old classic on pages so yellow
     The creases on the cover and the dusty feel
     Every word still vivacious with the zest for life
     It still has it magic, its razor-sharp wit
     The maidens still pretty , the bells still peal.

     The paper so crisp , it threatens to crumble
     Yet the turf for the army's thunder
     The ink, so faint she strains to read,
     Still weaves nights of cold air laden
     with treachery thick and mysterious wonder

He looked at her
There was no longing there

     The yellow so bright, its almost golden
     A half-open bud, posing as a flower
     The scent so deep, there's substance there
     Compliments the smell of the musty paper
     All at once - potent, sweet and sour.

     So young so fresh, yet so proud
     The pollen within the promise of life
     Breathing in every shade that's hers
     His eyes never the green thorn saw
     For the petals alone cut like a knife