The Poem I Never Wrote

The Poem I Never Wrote Is still on my lips Buried treasure at the time Now it's a barnacle on the ships side And with each passing year It keeps growing and growing In infamy In its infancy, some 50 years ago The stage was set We were twelve, once Like two seagulls circling the sea In harmony But I didn't have the gull To hold her hand Or pass her a love note No, no Theres was no poet in me Or a lion Only a snail It tears me to think about it How our butterflies fluttered And I didn't catch hers connie pacheco 10/7/22 Not for contest ... it kept growing and growing, becoming saltier and saltier