Everyone’s peddling something, she complains...
And I a bicycle for two, I reply.
You’re so short-sighted, she retorts...
But I may have missed you were I not, I say.
You’re too happy-go-lucky, she quips...
But I think I’m lucky-to-be-happy, I grin back.
You poets are so unrealistic, she says...
On the contrary, love, we breath life into realism.
You’ve got your head in the clouds, honey...
But I was just looking for you, my angel.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 2:44 AM UTC
Everyone’s peddling something, she complains...
And I a bicycle for two, I reply.
You’re so short-sighted, she retorts...
But I may have missed you were I not, I say.
You’re too happy-go-lucky, she quips...
But I think I’m lucky-to-be-happy, I grin back.
You poets are so unrealistic, she says...
On the contrary, love, we breath life into realism.
You’ve got your head in the clouds, honey...
But I was just looking for you, my angel.
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