My Paul McCartney

With The Beatles crooning softly in my head,
I sit and think of him
And of other things. Both those that concern me
And those that do not,
But mainly of him.
There is more than one of him. He assumes many forms.
Tall, but shy.
Short, and soft-spoken.
Lean, yet proud.
I still love him all the same,
Regardless of which mask he wears,
Because I know
That, although
He doesn't show it, he loves me more than words will allow.






(P.S. This isn't about Paul.)