Pen in hand,
Paper underneath,
Different strokes, but same thoughts
To scribble on the new empty sheet.

His name depicts every words,
That's made to prevail in this world,
For no thoughts her mind could muse,
But his face alone, so bold.

She could write a thousand poems,
And not a single one of them,
Could mend the pieces of her heart,
He had torn into shreds when he left.