At five to eight
Next to the shop where you work
I pass by almost every night
to watch you while you close it
and regret that your heart doesn't want me.
Every evening at five to eight,
old friends know my way,
I'm passing by and watching you
and imagine you in my embrace.
You don't even pay attention,
for you I am just one more passerby,
you don't know that my heart writes you
a hundred poems a day.
To express my love to you
I can only in poems,
because you won't for once
to give ourselves to each other.
Zera Princ
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