She tried to be romantic for awhile.
She did. I received her smile.
But she was a ghosting, gaslighting cockroach
At heart. She was never clear with me.
In the furry forest she spoke rapidly.
The romantic cannot be cowardly and sly.
She practiced confusion.
The romantic needs a beautiful inward seeing eye.
She wasn’t able to dream in dreams.
She couldn’t be romantic for long.
She retired into darkness, afraid of the sunbeams.
Poor angry devil. The love was mine. And the song.