Pick 1 you like if at all and send me a note re same

“Oh Colleen, have you made me blush,

Oh, has the blue from your eyes

Given me such a gentle touch?

I waited so long to give you this poem—

It was all I could do; I wish I could sing you a song.”

And so, eighteen-year-old varsity shortstop Michael made his feelings known, leaving an impression on sixteen-year-old, bashful cheerleader Colleen.

Mike was built—a tall, wiry body, wavy black hair, and riveting brown eyes that caught the blue of Colleen’s. She was average height, with parchment-freckled skin, perfect teeth, and a disposition as gentle as a summer breeze. They dated and promised to be true—true for one, but as you know, it’s hard to know.

Off to college—one finished, one not. A war was raging, and the reality wasn’t lost on Mike. After a year, he was home for good, though he wasn’t the same. I think that’s understood.

They married and had three children. Mike wrote poems to Colleen every Valentine’s Day, which she saved in her top dresser drawer—a collection to look back on when times felt lost forever. Yet, time passed and took their love with it, spending it wildly, as if on the back of a dove. After a while, and after many golf courses, Mike grew cold—distant, is what you would call it, I imagine.

It wasn’t lost on Colleen that Mike’s demeanor had cooled. Though never impolite or rude—he was a decent fellow—he cited work as a real strain. Perhaps an assistant was really the game.

The Showdown