Do not imagine, though I write of her,
I think of nothing else. Of course I do!
I may spend hours wishing that she were
With, or talking to, me, what have you,
Or pondering what she may be up to,
Or thinking through her day instead of mine,
Or texting her to get her point of view,
But do not think I only sit and pine.
I may, perhaps, by purpose and design
Be there to talk whenever she's around,
And whisper sadly to myself or whine
When I cannot; but that is still no ground
To think I only think of her. I keep
Something to myself: I have to sleep.
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