I wrote her a poem
She won't like it
I tore it--
Its out of whack

I did her portrait with ink
She won't like it
I squeezed it--
Its not her skin color, its black

I plucked her some flower
She won't like it
I dropped it--
Its not rose, its lilac

I made her a pendant
She won't like it
I broke it--
Its not gold, its brass plaque

I'm at her door with no gift
She won't like it
But I love her
To the moon and back