Too tired to write.
Tune my hurts to sighs.
No signs hide for me to read.
Lows, highs; I'm boring as each.
Goodness gracious,
turn on your charm.
Look this way miss,
purr for your yarn.
It is not rude to play with,
if you return with your harp.
I'll continue my way in
as you submerge in my heart.
Your venue's persuasive:
icebergs would awe and melt with our scenic sparks.
My set view isn't pervasive.
I'd burn all the fuel felt to get to Venus from Mars.
