My poems may not move mens' souls;
        My manners may be sometimes rude;
        I never pretended to be perfect;
        I never asked to be thought of like that.
        My heart knows only itself;
        Sharing's my most natural state,
        So when I shared my heart with you
        It was not to be unexpected.
        Was there harm in what I felt?
        You never spoke to me.
        Did you assume I had no heart to break?--
        Or just misunderstand?
        I knew not true love 'til I saw it in you eyes.
        I knew not true pain 'til I touched your heart
        And felt it not stir,
        Especially for me.
        My imperfections are many;
        The one I regret the most--
        Unlike a poem,
        I have no end.
                                    10-18-1999