Today, I wrote a word.
And soon, it became a line.
The line, a paragraph,
Till my paragraph became a prose.
A story to tell.
My song to sing out loud.
A thousands stories have I heard before,
Indifferent in tone and meaning.
But through my eyes,
Mine is unique,
Slowly being made perfect
Because of her.
For she be the words of my song.
She is the beat that makes me tap my feet
The rythym to which I move,
To which my heart beats.
She is my song to sing out loud.