I only write about agony
And love which I don't feel
But for you I sense something new
A matter which is real
But how can I describe
A shapeless, crude emotion
Unfinished, yet already born
By a first, slight, shy notion
And maybe it will vanish again
Even before it fully grows
And when it developes what it becomes
Neither you nor I could know
So I can write you poetry
And make all endings rhyme
But what is the meaning when I meant nothing
Besides a waste of time?
