With every day that passes by,
Every moment lost in time,
My mind does wonder, flounder, cry,
Speaks out through eyes as a mime,
No words burst forth on bridges of air,
No sound of amazement, while
I marvel in your dense, pretty hair
And look everywhere for your beautiful smile,
'tis lost, 'tis lost, lost for me,
Somewhere in the realms of antiquity
That is naught much, just the life
Of a poet aspiring a god to be.