Unsigned
It was just a tiny scrap of paper that I found lying on the floor.
Who would leave a note for me, quietly slipped beneath the door?
A parchment of mystery unfolding in the shade of passionate red.
I searched for a clue of sender as the affectionate words I read.
"Soon I'll stand before you but this little note is my second choice.
I could not speak of love to you, for my thoughts could not find voice.
Although not written about a rose, nor fragile violets of blue,
not sweetened with sugar crystals, but know my love is true."
It was just a tiny scrap of paper without a hint from whom it came.
A rendered heart of crimson paper, romantically left without a name.
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