Faces In A Crowd Poem by Roy Ballard

From face to face my glances fly,
among a thousand, all unique,
yet every one the same.
Mere wooden faces passing by
on lonely dolls that cannot speak
and gnomes without a name.

Your face alone delights my eye
and promises the cure I seek
for aches I cannot tame.
I wait in fever; wonder why
this helpless yearning leaves me weak
and you, you are to blame.

At last you come. My mouth is dry;
I tremble; I can hardly speak;
you clasp me like a flame.
I'll burn forever. As I die
I shall remember, cheek-to-cheek
how you were mine to claim.