I am not a serious poet.
    (if only the water was cleaner)
It's not a matter of laziness.
    (the air is thick, the skies are grey)
I can't sing the way the ancients did.
    (listen closely, they still do)
Why whispers of love appear I know not.
    (in the quietest moments, a closed symphony)
A pen is something I hold sometimes.
    (oftentimes it could have been something)

All on its own
    a world and me
           (kiss
                  hold hands
                                leave).

I don't know your number so I cannot call again.