He offered imperfection
And said it was for free
I settled for deception
Knew he wouldn’t see
He could have if he wanted
But his eyes were just for me
I found it quite confronting
Yet chose not to break free
Then he went and spoiled it
I wished he’d let me be
But he was such an idiot
And worried that I’d flee
He makes pretty music
Lives in big old tree
Thinks I maybe magic
I butterfly - him bee
Really like it, a great poem with a beautiful flow. A great write. May i invite you to read my new poem called, For Paul Blackburn, its a true story.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sometimes things are just ot meant to be