"I miss the breakfast poems,"
Said she,
So I awoke
Silently at dawn,
Slipped into my study
And wracked my brain
For the glint of inspiration
From which to build
My perfect poem
For her amusement.
Nothing came.
The more I tried
The more did my inspiration
Abandon me.
And as I thought
About my past
Her present
Our future,
I realized the perfect poem
Forming in my mind
Should never be written
Would never be read
Could only be lived.