Staircase to memory

When romance holds an empty stair,

that stretches upwards to my room,

and pictures turn quiescent hours

to softer shapes in sculpted clay,

then tender hands may mould a face

forgotten through ambitious years

Some young admirer may then praise

and all will love the perfect dream

Should students threaten to reveal

your name, and flaunt it in the street,

then I may force a lonely smile,

and press my finger to your lips

to keep the silence of a heart

that whispers all that it might do