This is not a poem that you want.
This is not a poem that you need.
One could view this effort all as naught.
A random shot that one ought not heed.

This is not a rhythm that I sought.
This is no catharsis in my plans.
A simple outflow of unbridled thought,
Written by surprised, unwitting hands.

It’s no doubt best you throw this page away.
It’s either waste or salt upon a sore,
That sincere effort should no doubt defray
Lest burning yet again assail the core.

Well – if you’ve not yet taken my advice
By tossing out this silly little try,
Then listen not to my unspoken voice
To which best efforts ever give the lie:

Against all sense I know I love you still.
Against all sense you know I always will.
The ultimate presumption wends its way:
Without solution, yet I have my say.