Written by: wayland bunch

Your name created in poetry 
Only imagination could conceive such beauty
Language once taught, the profit was to curse
Love now sought, in which I do immerse
She who must be admired
This truth already known
She who is now desired
To this end have I grown
Hope gives wings to imagination
The future bright like the morning sun
Despair gives rise to agitation
The past can never be undone
Only time will tell what is to be
As I look into the stars
What is there to see
Will you heal all the scars
Or was it not meant to be