When I start to write my poetry
A blank sheet of paper stares back at me.
So I let my mind run through many ideas
Like a daydreaming trance; you know how it feels.
And I’ll start to write on the spur of the moment
Not worrying about the meter, rhyme, or content.
But there are certain things I can’t describe
Too beautiful for speech; believe me, I’ve tried.
These couple of subjects, they are but few
But one of them has always been you.
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