to my husband
Nothing.
Nothing comes to mind.
Nothing comes to heart.
Nothing fills my love.
Nothing fills my soul.
Nothing loves me.
Nothing feels me.
Nothing will hold me.
Nothing will touch me.
Nothing will replace you.
Nothing will compare to you.
Nothing will ever be...
Except you.
A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| to my husband | 0 | 07/06/2009 |
| Cancer sucks | 0 | 07/06/2009 |
| My life seems to always want to falter | 0 | 06/10/2009 |
| Me | 0 | 06/10/2009 |
| Blocked | 0 | 06/10/2009 |
| What to do without you? | 0 | 06/05/2009 |
| Ode to Love | 0 | 06/05/2009 |
| Why | 0 | 06/05/2009 |
| Secret love | 0 | 06/05/2009 |
| Why | 1 | 06/05/2009 |
| you | 0 | 06/05/2009 |
| Love | 0 | 06/05/2009 |
| Feel | 0 | 04/19/2009 |
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