Days of Your
Lots of poems did I write
Most were written late at night
For what I'd always strive to do
Was have one waiting there for you
When you arose, the first bouquet
Of fragrant words to start your day
I used to tell you things that way
Since to your face I could not say
But now it seems sometimes I can
I know not how, nor why, nor when
I started feeling comfortable
Enough to tell you almost all
Not everything though, deep inside
I hold some back, they're set aside
Until such time as may permiss
Commencement starting with a kiss
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