I cannot write you anymore,
My golden pen has fallen;
It faltered, shattered, breathed last,
And now it's dead and barren.
I wrote you pretty verses once,
Of love and pain and laughter;
My pen once sang grand symphonies,
But silent be hereafter.
I cannot make you sigh nor smile,
My words have lost their power;
I cannot make the world a poem,
Nor tie two lines together.
The sky is blue, the grass is green,
Is all I'll ever manage;
I'll never find the perfect rhyme,
No matter how I forage.
I cannot write you anymore,
My words hold no more power;
For you have left my folded arms,
Now write again, I'll never.

Either way, I liked it, so I thought I'd point it out.
