And suddenly all of my confidence dribbled away with a pitiful plop.
My head was beginning to swim and my
forehead was covered with cold perspiration.
I started to reach for a book and
my hand automatically came to a stop.
I don't know how long I stood
frozen, a victim of panic and mortification.
Oh, how I wanted to flee
When a kindly voice, a gentle voice whispered,
"Pardon me."
You know what this dear, sweet,
slightly-bespectacled gentleman said to me next?
He said he could solve this problem of mine,
I said, "How?"
He said if I'd like he'd willing
read to me some of his favorite things.
I said, "When?" He said, "Now."
His novel approach seemed highly
suspicious and possibly dangerous too.
I told myself, "Wait. Think. Dare you go up to his flat?"
"What happens if things go wrong? It's obvious he's quite strong."
He read to me all night long. Now how about that?
It's hard to believe how truly domestic and happily hopeful I feel.
I picture my Paul there reading aloud as I cook.
As long as he's there to read there's quite a good chance indeed,
A chance that I'll never need to open a book.
Unlike someone else, someone I dimly recall,
I know he'll only have eyes for me.
My optometrist Paul!
