Undeclared Love

He smells her hair,
He holds his place.
It's so unfair,
This lovely face.

There's no broken heart
For him to mend.
This is the part
That doesn't end.

A languid limb
Of hers reclines;
For beauty’s hymn
Sorrow defines.

Of all the ways pain can name,
This is the one he would not claim.


The first two stanzas of this poem were written as a group effort at English club at K.I.M.E.P. recently and are the combined efforts of several people, including Nurmerey Shakhanova and Akerke Almanova. The last stanza and the couplet I wrote subsequently and the poem you have just read is the result. I want to say thank you to those who participated in the creation of this sonnet.