I made that poetry proudly,
A little bit of emotion, an idea or two.
In love, I write for the one I love.
But was there ever a you?
I, in love, loved loudly,
Too much emotion, which emotion knew.
In poetry, I write to one I love.
But was there ever a you?
How can I tell you, my only love!
Of these feelings that writing knew?
It is you I write to, my darling.
But was there ever a you?
Why do I ponder this?
To question this is absurd.
Of course you exist! You do!
I only question the word.
