What Did I Ever Do To You Poem by Mark Heathcote

What did I ever do to you but love you?
In death, a trailing flower, holding on to its last breath.
I called like a bird flailing on a breeze
One beautiful morning, daffodil gold, but still, I weep.
Wandering whatever I've done to you.

What did I ever do to you but love you?
Why do you send dark sirens to my soul?
Am I not, yet, deserving of a life without a mockingbird?
How do I escape this birdcage house?
Don't you promise me anything or tell me lies?

What did I ever do to you?
But live in your wasted daydreams and believe
I was born with two good eyes
To work out an endless riddle
And accomplish my mysterious dreams.