This poem was originally published on 10 December 2015.
My dearest Poetry, I cannot comprehend you. You break the white screen, And then bid a bitter adieu. I do not know where you go, Or how you bide your time, I do not know when you will knock, Upon my faithful spine. My dear Poetry, You are but a grey pimpernel. Despite your extended absences, Our conversation stays eternal. The wine is in the glasses, Your lipstick spells you sipped, I keep the candle lit in the day, In hopes you make a trip. Dear Poetry, I admit I am tired, I worked to be verbose, Because you, I admired. It seems I lost the rhyme, And spent more time than I could spare, Upon a vending machine, That taxed me on nothing there. Hey Poetry It has been a while. How are you doing? What is on in your life?
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