Naughty, Naughty Poem by Denis Martindale

Naughty, Naughty



The dreams of you, they were my own
And comfort me when I'm alone,
The good I would I cannot do,
Because I'm naughty through and through!
The poets often write of love
As if itself could be enough,
But I'm convinced it will not do
Each time I dream of me... and you!

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