(no subject)
"First, I saw her. I feared I would go blind.
Second, I heard her. I was afraid her words would be too much for me to reply.
Third, I understood her. I came to know of her divinity, hidden behind her obvious humanity.
Fourth, I accepted her. For the miracle that she surely is.
I don't care if she's perfect or not. Her spirit is undeniable.
Although I will grow accustomed to this most wonderful phenomenon, this unbelievable girl, I know she will never cease to amaze me. Admittedly an angel sent to answer my prayers.
My hope will never die."
That's a poem. Written by me, of old.
Those were the days. Perhaps they will return, eventually.
Second, I heard her. I was afraid her words would be too much for me to reply.
Third, I understood her. I came to know of her divinity, hidden behind her obvious humanity.
Fourth, I accepted her. For the miracle that she surely is.
I don't care if she's perfect or not. Her spirit is undeniable.
Although I will grow accustomed to this most wonderful phenomenon, this unbelievable girl, I know she will never cease to amaze me. Admittedly an angel sent to answer my prayers.
My hope will never die."
That's a poem. Written by me, of old.
Those were the days. Perhaps they will return, eventually.