In all the time I've known you, I have had
Never a perfect rhyme, a perfect way
To say the many things I have to say
Without some part of them sounding so bad
I almost feared to write it. That's the sad
And simple truth of it; the price I pay
For writing you at all is that I may
Not like the way I write. I have to pad
Out lines, or turn a meaning just aside
To catch a rhyme or make a poem work;
Or when I don't, I'll just feel like a jerk
For how what I've just written will elide
The depth within my soul, and in 2-D
Show what should be expressed at least in three.
No comments:
Post a Comment