Your Call Poem by Becca Warnke
Your Call
Call, I'm sick
Call, I'm angry
Call, I'm desperate for your voice
I'm listening to the song we use to sing in the car
Do you remember, Butterflys, Early summer?
It's playing on repeat......
Just like when we would meet
Cause I was born to tell you I love you,
And I am torn to do what I have to
To make you mine
Stay with me tonight
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Topic(s) of this poem: car,sick,summer
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8/24/2026 8:09:49 AM # rel_20260813T193622Z_3aad590
