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?