Send Off
I have no hand at poetry
I'm a troubadour, for all to see
I try and make the lies you see
As clean and plain as a summer breeze
I've failed in this regard.
Regret is just a word
A word that reminds us how we're utterly absurd
I can't go back,
You won't relent,
Fruit has bloomed,
Our bounty spent.
What's a boy to do
But unhinge this taming of the shrew
I have no more lines
I have no more ties
I see nothing left of you or mine
A peaceful thought of you and I
Is one day we will die
Alone.
Write many poems. So nice poem that you writes.