The Spell by Straight Talk

He pauses in disbelief, unable to contain a stare.
She gazes absently from her window, a beauty ever so rare.
He snaps to attention, straightens his dickey, adjusts his tie.
She nods (or did she smile), a captivating, pellucid eye.
He perks, then grins; his teeth false, his smile, true.
"Morning ma'am," he ventures gaily, " how do you do"
She looks at him, countenance fair, her robe the purest white,
He tips his hat on his balding head, his limbs once majesty, now a fright.
"I know what you're thinking, if I saw what you see
What does this doddering wretch hope to ever offer me?"
"My bones may be lame, my humor's not - I've spent ages looking for you,
What I now feel - Oh impossible joy! - the richest glee you ever knew."
She doesn't budge, he hums along: "What subtle passions you stir"
"As my wife once did, a tremulous love, a raging fever"
He wipes a tear, "Cruel fate, snatched too soon, alas"
"But now there's you, I pray this moment should never pass"
The sun sets, he presses on, resolute as ever before,
"You will accept", he pleads, "when you can refuse no more."
When suddenly her window shuts, once more scorned, he turns to go.
The owner, locking up, says, "Do come into the store tomorrow."