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.