Sunday, August 1, 2010


When the black ink of my pen,
Goes overflow.
Itself remarks about You on the pink page.
It helps me,
To remember you.
When it imagines You,
I become ecstatic.
But it seems fail,
To draw out a shape of smiling
That made me mad
A melodious voice
That is the sweetest to me
Though I love this pen a lot,
Which helps me a bit
To feel you.