She thinks every poem I write

Is for her. And it's just not true.

My words come out sounding trite,

Writing like this is just what I do.

She read a Limerick and thought

It was written just for her.

I told her that I ought

See what words now incur.

She thinks the poetry is written

Because of her feigned influence.

My dear, I'm just not that smitten,

Lost within the congruence.

10/09/1980

Author's Note: ... to an old college friend.....

Posted on 05/16/2008
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