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Literature Text
Darling, I am no poet, no great writer.
I am not a wordsmith,
and words do not come easily to me;
they do not pour off my tongue like wine.
But oh my dearest, my darling,
if I only I had the words...
I would spin you a world full of wonderful things,
and forever whisper sweet nothings in your ear.
Had I the words, my sweet,
I could explain to you all of the ways in which I love you,
and simultaneously have no words to express myself with.
But alas my darling,
for I am no poet.
No great writer.
I am not a wordsmith,
and words do not pour off my tongue like free flowing wine.
And all I am left to offer you,
is this poor excuse for a poem,
and the over spoken,
I love you.
I am not a wordsmith,
and words do not come easily to me;
they do not pour off my tongue like wine.
But oh my dearest, my darling,
if I only I had the words...
I would spin you a world full of wonderful things,
and forever whisper sweet nothings in your ear.
Had I the words, my sweet,
I could explain to you all of the ways in which I love you,
and simultaneously have no words to express myself with.
But alas my darling,
for I am no poet.
No great writer.
I am not a wordsmith,
and words do not pour off my tongue like free flowing wine.
And all I am left to offer you,
is this poor excuse for a poem,
and the over spoken,
I love you.
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