Wrapped up in brown paper and tie-

A thousand words, not even one a lie.

Expressions writ by a heart's delicate voice

I'll let no one read it, my own enduring choice.

You'd think a love of this magnitude would know no bounds or containment

Still, this is the way of my world; I've no will to change it.

Time unending passes by, monotonous, morose

My words represent it, my own personal prose.

Who's to say in the end if my effort's worthwhile-

but to have written this at all, takes all of my guile.