I wonder, me being a flower to you.
A little bit white and a hint of blue.
I wonder, if that'd make you smile.
If not that, then a pale yellow.
I wonder, if that'd make you say hello.
I'd grow ears, rather than petals.
I wonder, if that will make you talk.
I'd be ready for a long such walk.
I wonder, if I could stay so long
I'd actually, if it weren't nature's song.
"For today has passed,
tomorrow is yet too long.
For today you be mine,
tomorrow it'll again be nine"
I wonder, if I'd be a flower by then.
Just to wonder everything again.
She,
She was kind of like a metaphor.
Though to be an incomplete one,
she was one hell of an incomplete metaphor.
The one, with whom you gotta
search out of the world to compare with.
She's kind of like a personified story,
penned to be a real one.
She's a one of kind, poem.
That can blend itself in all forms of verses of life.
Hers is the voice which alliterates through
her repetitions in my dreams.
The thought of her,is the one like a perfect
climax to a soothing life.
She's kind of like an omnipresent simile,
the one that can be like everything.
She just can't be on the latter part of the simile,
for you won't find anything to be like her.
