A poet can never be satisfied,
We want more and more in our life.
As the stars aren’t in the sky,
We can count their blessings with our naked eyes.
We can’t be full of love, as we rhyme,
It isn’t a matter of affection but more about time.
I write it with a feather pen,
As it is a fiction which can never end.
I love the moon with the same affection,
As the sunset, I have the same connection.
I can’t get over of the blossom too,
As my grassland need more of you.
My ocean love is deeper than brine itself,
I drown in it as I fall for you.
These tears of joy exist because I can feel,
Every feeling they can’t even deal.
I’m all about the musings in the breeze,
Warmed with the daylight heat.