I cannot write you vengeful poetry;
No matter how I try, the point is moot.
If God would grant a loaded gun to me,
I doubt if I could ever point and shoot.


My heart has gone away, but it is fine
You need not hurt for me and need not mend
I’ve better things to do than sit and whine
And dare not bother you at this, the end


Now I may talk and sing of hearts denied,
And I may tilt my head and forward glare
Lord knows how I’d be laughing if you cried!
But would I be the cause? I wouldn’t dare!


No, I cannot write you vengeful verse;
This kindness is far greater than my curse.