I thought I'd write a poem for you,

Perhaps jot down a line or two,

But then I realised it's a fools game I play,

A couple of words won't make you stay.

Not words from me in any case,

An ignored tune, O' what a waste

For ink streams through decaying paper

Ideas of you begin to taper.

I wage a war inside myself,

Into emotions I deftly delve,

I have no fear, I waste no time

The art of ink is sublime.