The Poem That Never Was

THE POEM THAT NEVER WAS My love, I had promised to write you a poem A poem about colorful butterflies and rainbows About rainbows in my dreams And butterflies in my stomach Just that I thought butterflies are better drawn And rainbows rather painted And most of those dreams were wet anyway Wet of spring rains yet had the warmth of summer I was meant to write you a love poem One alluding to cupid’s magical arrow And the melodious tunes of robins and winds I wasn’t bound to forget the gold of autumn But I just thought that cupid is best in fairies And I promised me to catch you a live robin But now that I have you, I won’t write poems, I won’t wait for cupid’s arrow, I have mine You shall release spring rains as my vulgar dreams come true At my nest you can actually sing better than robins, It will definitely save me the horror of swallowing butterflies Am sorry my love, for the poem that never was The rainbow never formed because the love still is!