Harlot Nights

Ouh I miss doing this
Ouh I miss this soo much
Poem Time!

The Poet

There once was a poet
so clever was he
He made poems of everything
and anything he could see

Of flowers that were blooming
and of weeping willow trees
To document life in text
was the reason for who he must be

Writing about others
and not caring for himself
He soon found he lived a life
Alone with noone else

But he kept writing
Hoping for the day
That one of those flowers
Would float his way

His way
His way
His way
Poems he may write
But he never
got
his way

With Love,Honesty and Sincere Apologies
WanNor "Slasher" Valentine™