Should I hold it by the hem?

And join it together with my prickling pen

What should I name this creation?

Or should I just call it nameless?

And let it drown before its naming 

It was created out of my feelings for you…

Butterflies in my stomach strung up together 

To form the perfect poem of love

Like the tides on a stormy sea at night 

My heart heaved up and down 

As I await your reply 

Cupid's eyes were red with envy 

He was quite angry that I fell in love

Without his involvement 

I stood up on the high mountain,

Stood at the entrance of caverns of old

Waiting for the messenger birds to return

I gave reasoning a cold slap 

And gave common sense the middle finger

As I jumped into the ocean of love 

But the storm has calmed

And I am lonely at the mountain top

Yet to receive your reply 

So should I use the butcher's knife?

Or puncture it with flaming arrows?

And watch my feelings go down like a warrior 

Should I name it at all 

Or just call it a lost sheep?

The poem that never returned.