I
&nbsp;&nbsp; feel i must write
Im blue
Down in the dumps
I need a pick me up
But where do i start
There is no cure for
A heavy heart
If i could take it out and send it away
It would be a much lighter day
I fear tho it would come rite back
Stamped return to sender in ink jet black

Sad, But Not

If a poem
cannot be read
by for whom it's for,
then the heart asks, 
what is it for.

Poem

Clearly 
You didn't get my message
And I trusted the trees 
So earnestly
To deliver it to you 
With speed
I'm afraid 
No such service exists