A Blank Page Poem by John Florio

My life was quite a blank page,
before you wrote this story;
Then what I see was an image,
drawn there to be a memory.

I kept the page and would read,
everything that was written;
She filled it, and I did not need,
anything more to be smitten.

Suddenly, I noticed her feeling,
tended to play with my heart;
And I continued to her writing,
it was different from the start.

Her story was washed in tears,
before I could finish reading;
Then I folded it, but with fears,
reminding myself her heading.

The story proved to be a mirage,
and then faded away slowly;
My life, still a white blank page,
has no painting, and memory.