"You're textbook." She said,
Brimming with logic and reason.
Full of knowledge and facts,
But quite devoid of emotion.
You're meant to enlighten,
Yet you're difficult to understand.
Written by intelligent people,
With doctrines prestigious and grand.
Your black and white pages
Intimidate inferior minds.
Their heads spin round and round,
They struggle to perceive your lines.
"But you're not full textbook." She added.
"I've seen emotion here and there.
And perhaps a little friendly love,
It's present, however scarce.
You feel rage, you feel love,
Caring, you had to start.
But then again, you're sometimes cold.
So I'll call you textbook--
with a heart."
Jan 18, 2020
Jan 18, 2020 at 9:57 PM UTC
"You're textbook." She said,
Brimming with logic and reason.
Full of knowledge and facts,
But quite devoid of emotion.
You're meant to enlighten,
Yet you're difficult to understand.
Written by intelligent people,
With doctrines prestigious and grand.
Your black and white pages
Intimidate inferior minds.
Their heads spin round and round,
They struggle to perceive your lines.
"But you're not full textbook." She added.
"I've seen emotion here and there.
And perhaps a little friendly love,
It's present, however scarce.
You feel rage, you feel love,
Caring, you had to start.
But then again, you're sometimes cold.
So I'll call you textbook--
with a heart."
A birthday poem I wrote for the most logical man I met.
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