Fall

To look at her has always been enough,
No matter what is up, to make me smile;
And if she should, after a little while,
Glance up at me, it would take sterner stuff
Than I am made of not to slightly puff
And turn the smile to a grin. I file
Such moments in my memory, a pile
I dive into whenever things get rough
And wallow in remembrance of her look.
I cannot now pretend I do not pray
With every glance at her that I can steal
That she will once again turn from her book
And brighten up a cold October day
Indulging my continued mute appeal.