Whenever I try to say it
With rhythm, rhyme and word
Thereís nothing there
But shallow air
And verse that sounds absurd

Injustice in the writing
Inadequate and small
A feeble try
To tell you why
But I just canít list it all

I try in vain to show it
But I simply donít know how
To reciprocate
A trust so great
With what Iím writing now

And in a thousand stanzas
These words could never lend
A semblance of
The joy and love
I find in you, my friend

And so the lines grow longer
And weaker at the end
And being done
Iíve just begun
Because Iíve failed again