She wanted to log, to catalog, to list

All of my pretty poems penned on pages.

I wrote sonnets to her, limericks,

Ballads, villanelle and haiku.

She left me, said I wasn't hers,

Mine or anyone else's.

She tried three times

To be with me again.

She cried, all of the time,

Trying to make our love work out.

She said she wanted my love,

Wanted all that I was made of.

She lied, covering our lives.

I waited forever for her call

Though she never called again.

Years later I left a message,

My apology for the angst I had wrought.

She would no longer share her love with me,

In that way, she had indeed set me free.

10/30/2005

Author's Note: SMM

Posted on 12/20/2007
Copyright © 2026 Joe Cramer