Anytime I raise my pen to write,
my excerpt is a sketch of Sulty,
and those nostalgic memories.
Anytime I raise my pen to write,
I sketch ravishing images of her,
my nightingale.
Anytime I take my pen to write,
I carve no shenanigan images
of her, but of the comeliness
of her love twitching my
blood stream.
Anytime I raise my pen to write,
my ink is full with the gravity of her
love, ready is my pen to write of the
bonny of her beauty.
Mar 18, 2020
Mar 18, 2020 at 8:16 PM UTC
Anytime I raise my pen to write,
my excerpt is a sketch of Sulty,
and those nostalgic memories.
Anytime I raise my pen to write,
I sketch ravishing images of her,
my nightingale.
Anytime I take my pen to write,
I carve no shenanigan images
of her, but of the comeliness
of her love twitching my
blood stream.
Anytime I raise my pen to write,
my ink is full with the gravity of her
love, ready is my pen to write of the
bonny of her beauty.
This poem describes the beauty of love and the power of power of love
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