|
|
 |
 |
|
|
She thinks she loves me, She’s telling friends. The kind of love, That never ends. I cannot talk, Unless her name. Escapes my lips, Once more; again. I have become, A frightful bore. Each little thing, I love her more. We must present, A sorry pair. And yet and yet, We are a PAIR. To face our fate, Where is the plan. That will create us, Girl and man? Who gives a jot, When life is fun? As fear and doubt, Are overcome. To think as one, Is not our aim. But one plus one, Creates a team. This friend to all, A friend to me. I stand proud, My mind is free. Let life wash on, And wash me clean. For I have found, My ever dream. Ignatius Writealot |
