This is not a poem
For the sake of a poem
But for the expression of sentiment
Too great for expression

These thoughts; they swell up
Up and boil over
Over and evaporate
From memory. . . to air

They force themselves
Outward
By their great proliferation;
As they rush past, I choose some:
This, the sum of the catch.

Is this enough
To show you to feel it?
More would take longer
But if needed, I'll write it--
I fear it too much for your patience to bear.

Laugh; what a sorrow!
It is my patience that suffers
In wait for your answer
That (One last plea--
Desperate to be heard;
If my hope would release me...)
May never appear.

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