If my words could buy,
Someone like you,
I would deeply chew,
Over words to write more often,

If the words, I speak,
Were the ones you were fond of,
Then all of the words I pick,
Would hover around your beauty,
Like the bees flooding the garden,
With their 'hummmmms'

But, to my dismay
To you, my words are wierd
To you, my speech is a low gust
That couldn't influence your flowers into moving

That is why I write so less about you,
For my poetry, that I so dearly caress,
Might not be so poetic, for you to embrace