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A poem about my relationship with love. |
| How can I write of love, When love hath not yet wrote to me? It seems to be everywhere, And yet nowhere nearest me. It infects all the people I see, But nonetheless still happens to evade me. I hear of love in songs, And still love does not serenade me. So what am I to do when love chooses you And overlooks me? Do I mope? Do I cry? Nay, for love is fickle, And I shall wait for its tickle. |