He wheeled his barrow of runny mortar
across the wobbly plank;
Thinking about the boss's daughter
As he pushed up and over the bank.
He thought about her hair of gold,
And her turquoise and lively eyes;
And wished that he was brave and bold
To see what could arise.
But he was unable to utter a sound
when in her presence he was graced.
The fool he must look when she was around;
he would turn and run in haste.
The barrow dodged the potholes and rocks;
Oh how he imagined that they were together;
She with her pretty, golden locks;
he with his...well, whatever.
His legs and arms they pushed with might
but his thoughts were an almighty mess.
For he'd think of her both day and night
and he worried that she couldn't care less.
Did she even know he existed?
he wondered as he pushed the barrow down hill.
He wanted to talk to her but so far resisted;
Oh, what a fool what a dill.
He pushed the barrow along the path;
Find some guts, man up you fool!
Say hello, or make her laugh,
just don't mess up, stay cool.
He started running his confidence grew;
"I can do this by heck", he thought.
"Everyone may think 'She's too good for you',
but hell, that counts for naught"
And the barrow it never came back on site;
the boss had to make his own mortar.
"Its a pity" he thought "That kid was alright;
I could have introduced him to me daughter!"