A misunderstood riddle Rolled off a lonely tongue The tongue of a poet With too much to say And no one to say it to She speaks too quickly When you come around Like there isn't enough air in her lungs To last as long as she needs to speak She rushes it from gut to lips From lips to ear If you actually listen, that is Do you care to hear? She'll draw back a bit Reading your face But there's so much to tell She'd write it all out If the paper could say "I love to hear you talk, Your poetry speaks to me, And I'm sorry you had a bad day"