Even I do not know when
A man begins to love a lad who
Struts on simple walkways like
A lady on call.
Maybe the man had his heart swapped when
He blinked his eyes for a hundredth time.
Not even a philosopher could tell why
A man and his heart sought after
A lad who worked in the mines.
Maybe the lad was a flower
In a pleasant summer morning.
© Uche Thompson