Your Call - Poem by Becca Warnke
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
Comments about Your Call by Becca Warnke
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye