Poets Are A Weird Mob:

I get up before the sun, And before the household, So I can write poems for you, It comes out of my fingers. In reams. One day when I finally meet you, I will give them to you and, Unless you are a poet, You may not understand, The significance. You’ll hand them back, And more

Divine Retribution:

She doesn’t know where he is, What he’s doing or who he’s with, She only knows the ache for him, She only knows that now he’s Just another statistic: His life turned to ashes, The moment he hurt her, (She had the garage door down, And the engine was running), He’s the fifth one now more

The Ada Tree:

I took my love to the Ada Tree, the Ada Tree,Where we could be alone, him and me,I would tell of my dreams and two would become three.This was my chance – his dazzling smile had stolen my heart,At the Ada Tree; one last shot at romance,So much had passed between us that meant so more