I wrote you a poem
But you didn't undertand.
for each word means something to someone,
and you're just too different to know.
I wrote about the summer
the haze and the roads
when we walked through the sickle scented fields
row by row
when we held hands
and kept on doing so.
and I wrote about the fall
the autmun wind that blows
and the pumpkins and the warmth
within houses
row by row
and I wrote about the winter
when leaves still sparsley hang
from limp trees
that the wind hasn't blown away
left over from the autumn
when snow has yet to fall
but gloomily we wait,
outsise preparing,
outside,
our houses
row by row
sled in hand
waiting for something to either fall
or start to grow
and I would write about the Springtime
but you never lasted very long
because when I described the three others
you just turned and frowned
and told me that I was wrong.