Who Knows

Call it football weather, or a "ruined" day, still
I like it overcast, with just a little chill
The color grey, the natural way; low to the ground
I like almost no make up on girls who dress down.

In fact, I like a girl now where this profile applies
She walks fast and has brown hair way down in her eyes
She wears baggy black jeans and unflattering tops
I want to catch eyes with her, but she never stops.

Tall, pale, dark and quiet; she intrigues me a lot
Want to tell her she's "cool," but I can't get a shot
Does she even notice me looking; does she care?
I can't stop thinking about her; man, this isn't fair.

She's so independent, she just lives on her own
All by herself, she's not in need of being known
That's the kind of girl I want, and she needs to know
I won't ask for approval, I'll just tell her so.

So, it's decided, I must confront the dark one
Tell her I like her style, and see if she does run
And she could be the ideal woman, I'm not sure
Hell, who knows, I might even be perfect for her.

© 2001 W C Davis

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