I am afraid that I lost,
My writing pad and pencil,
Which you gave me in secret,
When I never knew to read or write!
So many days I grieved of my pencil,
And searched in and out of my home.
Above he shelves and beneath the desks,
In coat pockets and every folded book!
Finally you came to search,
Under my pillow and bed,
Behind the mirror and curtains,
At the windowsills and steps.
Weird when you find no pencil,
I discover where I lost it for sure.
I searched and searched until,
You sat down in sweat and shame.
Out of a dream as I looked at your eyes,
And took my writing pad,
Started writing my poem, I knew,
That what I lost was not a my pencil,
But me in your eyes, And with a poem
I got it back to look at your soul.
My writing pad and pencil,
Which you gave me in secret,
When I never knew to read or write!
So many days I grieved of my pencil,
And searched in and out of my home.
Above he shelves and beneath the desks,
In coat pockets and every folded book!
Finally you came to search,
Under my pillow and bed,
Behind the mirror and curtains,
At the windowsills and steps.
Weird when you find no pencil,
I discover where I lost it for sure.
I searched and searched until,
You sat down in sweat and shame.
Out of a dream as I looked at your eyes,
And took my writing pad,
Started writing my poem, I knew,
That what I lost was not a my pencil,
But me in your eyes, And with a poem
I got it back to look at your soul.
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