I need to write no more,
After Chaucer, Shakespeare,
Donne , Keats and Spenser,
They sang in your honour.
Listless, I listen to the chirp of the birds,
As I struggle to find my unwrit words,
Longingly latch on to your love threads,
Happily, let my heart and pen move to shreds.
Patiently, I wait those soft, sprightly, footsteps to hear,
Deep within, it is all Valentine muse that I bear,
One evening more, I beseech, on the beach together,
I just want to sit beside you, pining, into those eyes stare.