I pick up my quill, I think, Today I'll write about love. Can't quite seem to jot down those words Those soul-touching expressions π That makes you want to let go Fall into timeless adulation. I read romantic poetry, I want to be inspired π By their rhythms, and rhymes, and honeyed words Those seem to float away when I assemble myself to write. Should I compare the clouds, How some dissipate into nothingness Or will they form into a storm? Heavy and all-consuming. Or should it be stars π, Shimmering in the sky Far away yet not alone Watching apart but yet together. What about the moonπ, Only showing itself at night Waiting patiently for its turn Trusting that its time will come. How about the flowers , With the cherished meanings they hold Did you get a rose πΉ , or was it a tulipπ·? What color was it? Don't you just dread the black. I think I'll...