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.