I was asked to paint a picture Of love and all it brings But me, I am no artist I can only write of things I Colour with rich feelings And can only paint in poem So when I was asked to paint a picture Of love and all it brings All I could paint with my poem was: A sorrow so deep it tore the page, Of a pain I knew not of. An emptiness that blackened my words, A hole aching longingly for love. So when I was asked to paint A picture of love and all it brings, I told the truth. “I am no artist, Nor do I wish to be. I am a poet, And love was not made for me.”