Nothing She Does Can Make Me Leapfrog Poem by Mark Heathcote

We've all got our own, rolling stock
But her value increases daily
It rises sky would like a hollyhock
There's nothing at all lost inanely-

About her, I guess its high tide mark
Is where I drown ever frailly?
Calling her name like a meadowlark
In deep love so, desolately.

Whatever her sad monologue
Her stage door draws me every night
Nothing she does can make me leapfrog
Whatever might evilly expedite,

I know we've all got our own, stock
And all though nothing is watertight
I would happily be a mealy bug
And increase fourfold my appetite.

Look I'd eat the scraps off her table
And never moan because love is blind
And nothings reimbursable
If you, don't value it hold it prized.