As the time grows near,
anticipation grows to fear.
First meetings are always hard,
but at least a page for the bard.
Black or white or shades of plaid,
good or bad an experience had.
A pleasant day and a pleasant lunch,
tomorrow’s unknown, but a hunch.
Sparks yet to fly,
there’s no twinkle in the eye,
a goodbye hug with space between,
love at first sight not felt or seen.
A future call will say it all,
will there be a summer or a fall.
Days ahead, there’s a bunch,
more pleasant times and yet another lunch.


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