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Stood beneath the station clock I wait,
Make-up fixed as my nerves start to tremble.
Apprehension inside growing as I watch the gate
As the crowd for the next train assemble.
Eyes slowly move to the clock, quarter to eight.
I wonder if the ad in the paper was right,
And then hope that his train isn't too late.
The letters exchanged, yet still I feel this fright.
'Pull yourself together, girl, it's only a date!'
A brief hello at a nearby pizza bar.
The letters it seemed this was our fate,
He's just a boy, me a girl, we could go far.
Why worry if the need for love we sate?
Oh, why can't it be easy to find the perfect mate?
© Jem Farmer 2008, all rights reserved.
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