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I wrote a poem, now I don’t know why.
I wrote for my sweetie pie.
I worked so hard on those short, sweet lines.
I slaved for hours on my rhymes.
I put my heart and soul in that verse.
For days and nights did I rehearse.
But I’m sad to say to you my dears,
My poem would fall upon deaf ears.
I saw him take her hand in his,
he kissed her cheek and said good night.
When I arrived the house was alight,
I marched to our room and took the things,
That usually happiness brings.
I took his things and put them down, I beat them ‘till they were ripped and brown.
Looking back on that event,
A bit too far I might have went.
I can see her clearly in my mind and before I was jealously blind,
Of my sweetie giving kisses
to his father’s lovely Mrs.