I only told you I loved you in my poetry,
But never in person.
I never loved you out loud,
Only ever in my song.

I didn't show you what I'd written,
I loved you in what my poems say.
It's too late now for you to read them;
Now this verse too shall see decay.

The ghost of you in what I write,
A beauty of words that comes from you.
I feel a sting in what I sing,
I write to a person I'll never read to.

My words never reached you,
And perhaps they never will,
But my poetry is my heartbeat
Which beats forever still.