A man once fantasized. That’s all, he just dreamed.
Don’t you like him? Or can’t you tell?
One must wonder, then What I could say
To make you like our friend The thinker in the window.
Perhaps if I said…
He has a chiseled frame.
You can see it through his coat: Silhouette gleaming,
And the shadow flickering
In time with the rain,
as he continues his dreaming. He holds his soft face stoically.
But I can see, you being here,
Look isn’t your bag.
Well, I hope that didn’t cause it, anyway.
But
Perhaps his boldness? I thought I had mentioned! He’s not supposed to be there.
This is the count’s own cave, his respite
From storms like this very night’s.
He knows, but can’t help it;
Can’t stop for love of the view.
Of course…
He says it more romantically than that.
Ah, romance! A likely faiblesse.
Little ears perk up, and an old knower knows.
He Embraces his folded Leg as he Sits
Gazing Nobly and with Challenge into the Untamed wild, Capitalizing your thoughts. Uncontrollably.
What is it that they say; Dreamy?
Dreamy is indeed what he is, it’s dreaming that’s what he does. And when he breaks from the awe
The reverie concerning our “mother nature”
And deigns to utter choice words…
Why, my voice is scarcely capable
To speak of his.
What if I told you,
Even men fall silent, jealousy only to hide…
Nothing, of course. I shan’t speak behind the count.
But you understand what I mean.
Simply surveying his entranced countenance,
Enough to know that every promise will be kept
Even if it isn’t.
Especially if it isn’t.
A man once fantasized. Nothing more; he dreamed.
What will it take for you to love him?