It Is, A Just Small Thing Poem by James McLain

When i was blind,
she told me how nice my eyes were.
I have spent years trying to sea the color blue
in word subscribed.
When she siad she was pink, it is a rose i bring her.
I could be mistaking, it is having a pink smell to it.
It is a scent i died for, few cents that made, i have since.
When i was old, it is a sad thing, to have your mind erased again.
Please be my guest in it, it is just a small thing.